


Ulterior Motives

by Ghilenan, SuperNerd92, TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad coping mechanisms, Blood mages gonna blood mage, F/M, Fantasy Racism, Traumatic Nightmares, bad people doing bad things and being rewarded, creative use of necromancy, evil characters written sympathetically, fantasy slavery, light body horror, mentions of sexual situations, t-rated violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 47,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghilenan/pseuds/Ghilenan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNerd92/pseuds/SuperNerd92, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: No one seems to care that Inquisitor Ghilenan Lavellan doesn't believe in the Maker and definitelyisn'tanyone's herald. Despite being watched over, supposedly, by two pantheons, Ilena finds herself tangled with a Tevinter blood mage.And that's the only thing goingrightin her life.Send help.Or an assassin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was co-written with SuperNerd92 and posted with permission for archiving purposes. [You can check out the whole thing on Tumblr](https://super-nerd92.tumblr.com/tagged/ulterior-motives-series), but it's not recommended. Later parts were written with the help of TK-DuVeraun, which should be all of the warnings you need.
> 
> That said, check the tags! This is not Mature for happy naked funtimes, it's Mature for the terrible things that happen to the characters.

“I’m seriously  _ not  _ with the Venatori,” Terenti Sokolov said for what felt like the fifth time. The two soldiers in Inquisition livery, clearly assigned to watch him, just folded their arms and glared harder. 

For whatever reason, they didn’t seem to believe him. Maybe it was his Tevinter accent. Maybe it was shape and cut of his elegant robes, which screamed ‘magister lord.’ Or maybe it was the ominous splashes of dried blood  _ on _ said robes. He hoped so; he’d spent a lot of time in the mirror making sure they looked the part.

“Did you even send someone to fetch her? I’m an important person. I can’t just wait around all day for Her Holiness Or Whatever.” 

“You’ll wait as long as is needed,” one of the soldiers growled. 

“How crass. Is this the welcoming party you send  _ all  _ important visitors, or am I just special.” Without waiting for an answer, Terenti flounced into a chair and reached for a book. It looked like this might be a long wait, and his untalkative guards were poor company. 

It had been meeting after meeting since the day she made it back from the pit of snakes they called a royal court. Lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, representatives from the Chantry, all putting on forced, toothy smiles and kissing her ass to gain favors from the “knife ear”.

“Remind me again why I must read these myself?” - Ghilenan whined at the ambassador as she stretched over the armchair, the stack of perfumed, pretentiously wordy letters bunched in her hand. “I already  _ know _ I've  _ ‘ever so bravely saved the Empire’  _ and have their  _ ‘eternal gratitude for this selfless, heroic deed’ _ , whatever that means.” - Voice dripping with sarcasm, she absently flipped through the remaining pages. Josephine looked up from the report she had been writing, mildly amused by the theatrics. 

“These are congratulations from the court, your Worship. After what happened at the Winter Palace, almost every noble wishes to strike a partnership with the Inquisition. I must remind you that their favor is of no small value.” - Josephine dipped her quill in the ink bottle three times and returned her attention to the task at hand.

“What I need more right now, is kindling for the fire, which these letters may as well be. Along with the ‘dragon hide’ vest this one came with.” - Ilena made air quotes when she had the ambassador's attention again, and threw a leg over the armrest in frustration. Josie couldn't help but laugh into her hand.

“Don't laugh, I'm serious! Just listen to this garbage!” - She crossed the other leg over the first, and began with her best pompous voice.

_ Dear Inquisitor, _

_ It was our sincerest privilege to make your acquaintance at the Ball that our imperial majesty, Empress Celene Valmont I, saw fit to organize; Long may she reign. _

“One could almost assume they're trying to gain favor from  _ her _ , rather than me, don't you think?” - She raised an eyebrow at her.

“Your Worship, please-” - Lady Montilyet begged, barely stifling her laughter, but the Inquisitor sat up and resumed with a hand raised dramatically for added effect.

_ My lord husband and I pray that we will have the pleasure of attending more social gatherings with you in the bright future that the Inquisition will doubtless have further part in creating. _

“Ah, there we go! Now it's getting so much-”

The loud bang on the studded door startled her and damn near sent the papers flying.

“Your Worship, I have news.” - The culprit called out, far more quietly than the knock that rattled the door. Ilena looked at the woman wrapped in golden silk, and shrugged with feigned disappointment.

“You may enter.” - She straightened up, and the man peeked in.

“My apologies for the interruption, your Ladyship. Ambassador.” - He crossed arms over his chest, and then nodded at Josephine, - “We have a situation that requires your immediate attention, ser.”

"I'm sorry, Josephine, duty calls.” - The elf shot her a mischievous smirk and shrugged into the unreasonably thin longcoat before sliding the papers across her table, - “These incredibly important letters will have to wait.”

The soldier led Ilena through the hall, wearing a face that, shockingly, deterred the guests that at first all but dashed towards her with wide eyes, and mouths hanging open (presumably from the word vomit they intended to unleash). She'd have to make more frequent use of his talent. Away from Josie’s knowledge, of course.

The walk was rather short with the man’s wide strides that she had to keep up with, and the summary of the “situation” - far too brisk to catch completely. She heard “Venatori” and “blood” and “captured”, and smiled smugly, delighting in how  _ sore _ the captive must've been to have come to  _ her _ stronghold to… do whatever he tried to do in retaliation for the Ball. That was when the soldier pushed open the door, of course, and  _ barked _ a string of titles to announce her arrival. Right,  _ that's _ where his voice was.

Terenti’s soldier-guards smacked an arm to their chests in a simultaneous salute as a third lummox lead the vaunted Inquisitor into the small library. He wondered idly how long they’d practiced their timing. He was clearly expected to stand, so he closed the book and rose reluctantly for the long announcement.

“Not bad,” he commented with a smirk at the elf.  “I’ve heard better - the Archon keeps you standing around for twenty minutes as they run off titles. You’ll get there soon enough if you keep saving Empresses and being the talk of all Thedas.” 

“I have to say,” he continued, ignoring his guards’ glares, “I didn’t quite believe the elf bit. Seems like exactly the kind of propaganda the Venatori would circulate back home. ‘Oh, you can’t trust the Inquisition, they have a  _ Dalish  _ leader.’” Terenti’s tone made it sound like a swear. “But here you are, in the flesh.  _ Very _ interesting.”

“A mage.” Ilena concluded to herself the moment he stood. They didn't mention the mage bit. She scanned the man head to toe as he monologued, taking note of the mildly disheveled hair, very likely the result of the manhandling he must've been subjected to earlier. His eyes betrayed exhaustion, though he covered it well with the confidence he wore, much like the vulgar display of wealth that were his robes. The blood stains on the expensive fabric were particularly curious, considering how nobody mentioned anyone getting injured in the “situation”.

“What's ‘interesting’,” - She crossed the modest room, hands clasped behind her back, - “is how you refer to the Venatori as this… third party of sorts, completely unrelated to yourself.” - The elf punctuated with a wave of her hand, and with more poise than intended, took the vacant chair the guards had dragged over from the corner.

“Oh, yes. You see, as I’ve been explaining  _ at length  _ to your idiot soldiers here--” Terenti indicated his two guards, who were well-trained enough to content themselves with rolled eyes, ignoring his provocation. “--I’m  _ not  _ a member of the Venatori. They’re a cult of lunatics that say they’ll return Tevinter to its glorious past, but it’s clear as day their ‘Elder One’ is using them for a personal power grab.”

“Maybe your intelligence is faulty, since I barely mentioned I was from Tevinter before these blockheads seized me. Not all magisters are Venatori! Admittedly, quite a few of them. But  _ my  _ family is far more interested in stringing the cult along, encouraging their best bribes while weighing the options. There’s an alternative faction -- Tilani, some idiot idealist named Pavus, and their allies in the Senate -- Though if the rumors are correct, you already know all about  _ him _ .” He offered her a knowing smirk. 

“So I came to see this Inquisition for myself. I have to say, my first impression was  _ not  _ positive. Though I hear the Venatori like to stuff red lyrium into people, so there’s a slight point in your favor as far as hospitality...” 

It was all she could do to hide her curiosity behind a veneer of polite hospitality, which was apparently in contrast with the welcome this mage had received from the two men  _ very unsubtly _ hovering near her. This was most definitely better than chewing through repetitive letters that for some reason absolutely required special, carefully worded replies.

For someone so deeply offended, it took almost nothing for him to start discussing the politics of his house. And that of the others, naturally. Once they’d finish sizing each other up, she would have to inquire further on the subject.

“Tensions are high, as you can imagine. You must forgive these fine men for taking extra precautions after what happened at the Winter Palace, Magister- …” - She drew out the last vowel, and leaned back into the chair, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly to the side, - “I don’t believe you’ve shared your name.”

“Terenti Sokolov. Head of House Sokolov, an ancient and powerful family. Don’t worry about Vasili, he’ll go along with what I decide here,” he answered with a careless wave, as if she knew anything about Vasili or who he might be. “Of course I know all about  _ you _ . Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, et-cetera et-cetera. Whatever you were before, it hardly matters now, eh?” 

For a moment, Ghilenan found herself at a loss for words, and the smugness gradually died on her face as she considered the tone and the implications of the question. Cryptic bastard.

“Perhaps not while the threat remains.” - She shot him a steely look then, absently running a finger over the marks on her chin, the realization dawning on her that Vallaslin was the only remaining sign of her Dalish heritage. Suddenly, the string of titles that were only an annoyance before felt like a chain at the ankle.

“But I'm sure you didn't travel all the way from the North to make an appearance and exchange philosophies.” - The elf almost visibly reined herself in after a brief pause, and rose from the chair to stalk towards the unannounced guest, - “Tell me, Terenti Sokolov, head of house Sokolov, why have you come here?”

“I’ve told you the situation back in Tevinter; isn’t it obvious?” Terenti said with an easy grin. He stood with apparent (or perhaps genuine) unconcern and looked down at the smaller elf whose name he hadn’t bothered to ask about as she stalked closer. “I want to back the winning horse in this race. The Venatori haven’t impressed me much so far. The Inquisition might. I’d like to see it -- and you -- in action for myself.” 

He lifted a finger. “And before you ask, I’ll be no burden. There’s  _ plenty _ in it for you. First, I’m an extremely powerful blood mage. Second, I have the right connections within the Imperium. People who agree that Pavus is a fool will listen to  _ me  _ if I tell them the Elder One is weak and the Inquisitor is going to prevail,” he boasted without a hint of shame. 

The guards flinched at the mention of blood magic, and with swords half drawn, they may as well have leapt towards the two. “ _ Of course _ it had to be a blood mage from the ‘Dreaded Imperium’.” - Ilena thought to herself as she gestured at them to stand down. Just the kind of evil the Chantry endlessly yapped on about to leash the magically gifted without being considered unjust. The men took a couple of hesitant steps back, suspicious glares fixed on the Magister, still.

“You are a guest, Magister Sokolov. I wouldn’t  _ dream _ of offending you with such questions.” - She put on her best unruffled face, - “Nevertheless, I appreciate you being so forthcoming.” The elf almost rolled her eyes at her own words.

‘Forthcoming’. Yeah, right. She could easily believe the blood magic bit, considering the reputation of his supposed homeland, and the blood stains. She would need a second opinion on the rest. Curiosity and cockiness got the best of her in the end, however.

“You are more than welcome to aid us in our ‘ambitious endeavor’.” - She declared with practiced certainty, though she almost regretted it the moment those words left her mouth.

“Hmm, you’re rather open minded,” Terenti said with narrowed eyes. “I thought the Maker’s Chosen, et-cetera might have the Chantry’s silly hangups about blood magic and those who use it. Quite interesting.”  

“Well, here I am. I’ll need a room in your charming little keep. Preferably the best remaining. My...  _ servants _ ... will arrive soon with many things I’ll need if I’m seriously going to rough it in this frigid backwater.”

Ilena could barely resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation, and shot a squinty-eyed look back at him. Cursing the Chantry came to mind first, and sticking him in one of the rooms at the tavern, right after.

“A discussion for another time, perhaps.” - She settled with that, at least until the devout Andrastians and their fragile “morale” were out of earshot.

“You’ll be provided with appropriate accommodation, Magister Sokolov, but I’m afraid your ‘servants’ will have to endure without you for the time being.” - Ghilenan all but hissed the word in an attempt to make her stance on the subject very clear. He seemed sharp enough to know exactly what he was suggesting, and to whom he was suggesting it. The  _ nerve _ .

“You.” - She turned to one of the guards for a brief moment before returning her gaze to Terenti, - “See to it that our guest is settled in. And arrange an escort if he decides to reconsider his stance.”

Terenti barked a genuine laugh. “Finally, a limit to your polite endurance! No, they’re  _ actual  _ servants, hired from the Denerim alienage. Your men can check their work contracts to confirm. Fereldens are touchy about slavery and I was under enough suspicion as it was.” And he hadn’t wanted his valuable property confiscated, of course, though he finally seemed to show enough sense not to spell  _ that  _ out.  

“Thank you for your hospitality and a most  _ revealing  _ conversation. I’m sure this is just the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.” He waved lazily in her direction, then allowed the long-suffering soldier to lead him away. 

Her nose scrunched up in irritation upon realizing what a headache she'd just created for herself. Cassandra wouldn't be happy about this… arrangement, and neither would Cullen. Given the smallest of reasons to doubt his intentions, Bull would probably try to carve the man's spine out, and she wasn't sure she'd  _ honestly _ object; And Dorian… now,  _ he _ might have something interesting to say about the suspicious Magister.

“Report to the Commander and the Spymaster. I will need a man to watch our guest. At least for now.” - She dismissed the remaining soldiers before slumping into a chair, rubbing circles into her temples as she weighed her options, should this Terenti Sokolov prove to be more trouble than what was already obvious.


	2. Chapter 2

The Inquisition soldiers seemed to have taken great pleasure in sticking Terenti in the smallest, dingiest, and draftiest room in all of Skyhold. At least, that’s what it felt like. He was free to wander at will, but one of them always insisted on accompanying him, muttering something about preventing misunderstandings and appropriate caution.

Of course it meant they were still afraid of him and didn’t believe his reasons for being here. Quite right. But it did make it difficult to learn anything. Some of the soldiers went out of their way to avoid him, others talked politely but without any substance.

After a few days of futile effort, he retreated back to his room and dispatched one of the servants to the Inquisitor. Magister Sokolov wished to speak to her again when she had the chance. He closed his eyes, settled into a rickety chair, and waited.

It was only hours later that the Inquisitor answered his summons with a knock and push on the door. It seemed he intended to test the limits of his welcome with every breath he drew, be that by keeping personal servants and very obviously ruffling some feathers with it, or by sending them to call in the Herald.

Of course, she had no plans to indulge him either way, and unceremoniously strode into the room he’d been assigned. Completely unattended, to boot.

“My apologies for the wait, Magister.” - Ghilenan rolled up her sleeves as she shut the door with the heel of her boot, - “What is it that you wished to discuss at such short notice?”

Terenti had seemed asleep, but spoke immediately, even as his eyes remained closed. “I was just testing if I was a prisoner or honored guest. As this room is practically a cell, it’s a little confusing. A guard follows me everywhere I go -- yet you did come when I requested. Alone. Either you’re an utter fool or you, at least, believe my story.”

He smirked at her. “Or... perhaps you were just so tempted to speak to me alone that you threw all caution to the wind. I like that one.” 

Ilena blinked once, twice, and tilted her head to the side in bewilderment. Complaints she expected; Heck, she was wondering what took so long. But  _ this _ -

“That’s it?”- She almost visibly cringed at the yippy voice that came with her words, and cleared her throat, - “You had your servant fetch and bring me here so you could try your hand at teasing banter?”

And then she glared, more at herself for letting  _ that _ fluster her, than at him for wasting her time.

Terenti stroked his chin, as if seriously considering the idea for the first time. “Oh, is  _ that  _ what you think I meant? Perhaps you’re projecting your own desires. Personally, I don’t see much appeal in elves. You’re all so… tiny.”

“No, I was talking about my magnetic personality and open defiance of this silly Chantry provision on useful magic. When the closest thing to an Andrastian heretic around here is Pavus, I knew you’d come by sooner or later to have a  _ real  _ talk.” 

The elf huffed in embarrassment, briefly contemplating which part of him to send back home first. Perhaps his “servants” there could offer suggestions. The thought was promptly stashed away, of course.

“That is a big relief, Magister Sokolov.” - She gave him an exaggerated nod, and continued with a barely concealed sneer, - “Now the pair of us true heretics can finally gossip about the Chantry and its shortcomings.”

 

Happy with having regained her footing, she didn’t wait for his reply or invitation to cross the room and pull herself up on the windowsill, gesturing at him to speak.

“Hey, don’t take it as an insult. I can only imagine--and sympathize with--your position. For Ages the Chantry shits on the elves, kills them, takes their land, declares them and their magic and their gods heretical. Now when they  _ need  _ you--specifically you--it’s all sunshine and flowers, huh? But part of you must resent it all.” 

He nodded encouragingly. “I’ve only been here a few days, but I can  _ tell _ . Herald this, Inquisitor that, but would they give you the time of day if not for your glowy bits?” 

Ghilenan grinned wider at every sentence, and finally her laughter came in all flavors of contempt and resentment. She restrained it quickly enough, and looked around the room before speaking, as though she were preparing to disclose a secret.

“I’m sorry, this is all quite strange, coming from a Magister of the Imperium built on the blood and sweat of my people.” - Her face settled into a crooked smile then, voice low and laced with uninhibited bitterness, - “To the Void with the Chantry, but you have no high ground to speak from, nor understanding enough to ‘sympathize’ with my position.”

“Of course not. Back home the elves are mere slaves unless they’ve got magic. And as you say, we were the first to come in and kick down the door and take all your things.’” He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “I was just pointing out that the Chantry is no better to your people than we are, and quite a bit more hypocritical. I’m glad you agree.” 

“Hypocritical?!” - Ilena crossed her arms, little less than infuriated by the complete indifference with which he spoke, - “What about you? Would  _ you _ have given me the time of your day, were it not for my ‘glowy bits’?”

Shit. Sarcastically quoting him was becoming a very obvious habit already.

Fucking shem.

“Don’t pretend my magic would make any difference in Tevinter. I've heard enough about how elves are treated in the Imperium.” - She spat, preparing to go off in a wordy rant when someone knocked on the door. She glared at it, and then back at him when the thumping didn't repeat.

“Nope, the glowing is the only reason I’m here,” Terenti said easily, in answer to her first question and once the knock had interrupted her. “But that’s the difference. I told you so in our first meeting. In fact, I haven’t lied to you once. So I’d appreciate if you do the same - either  _ really  _ lock me up as a spy, or call off my guard dogs and start letting me contribute as a potential ally.”

He nodded towards the door. “That’s probably for you. Terribly important, no doubt.” 

“An incredibly tempting suggestion either way, I'll admit.” - The elf regarded him for a moment or two, having fixed her composure in the time it took for the banging to resume, with more urgency this time. She reached the door in a few long strides and yanked it open to be met with a worried, flushed face of the soldier from days before.

“Inquisitor, the war council-” - The recruit almost whined, and she promptly cut him off.

“The war council could have waited.”

“But your Worship, we have word… fr-from the Free Marches.” - He begged, pausing to look over her shoulder and at the blond man sitting rather smugly behind the Herald. She hissed something in Elven then, and pushed him out of the way to bolt from the spot, leaving the door open in her haste. He cleared his throat and awkwardly reached for the handle.

“Good day.” - The recruit sputtered before shutting the door, and very audibly stomped off in the same direction.

“Free Marches? When has anything happened in  _ that  _ backwater that required so much fuss?” Terenti wondered aloud, slumping back in his chair. Altogether unsatisfying. He’d hoped to prod the Inquisitor into  _ some  _ sort of action and further take her measure. Even being tossed into a cell would’ve been telling… Alas. 


	3. Chapter 3

The Inquisitor spent the remainder of the day away from the public eye, locked up in the war room with her advisors. Only by nightfall did they emerge, and she followed lady Nightingale to the rookery in tense silence. Ghilenan paced around as the woman wrote her instructions on a small piece of paper.

“Will they reach my clan in time?” - Ilena broke the silence, startling the ravens.

“My skirmishers are quick and efficient, Inquisitor. Provided the bird reaches them without delay, they'll prove to be significant aid to your people.” - The spymaster spoke without looking up from the parchment.

“And if it doesn't?” - The elf sat next to her and leaned on the table with her elbows, face half buried in her hands.

“They will need to make the decision themselves. And they will.” - Nightingale spoke confidently, and set the small piece of paper aside for the ink to dry, - “Rest easy. The Inquisition is for all; We  _ will _ protect clan Lavellan.”

Ghilenan stared at her with tired eyes as she strapped the message to the bird's leg and urged it to take wing.

“Good night, Inquisitor.” - Leliana stood and descended the stairs. The elf followed shortly after.

“Quick and efficient…” - Ilena mumbled absently to herself when she reached the deserted library, swiping lines on the dusty table with her fingers as she walked.

Knowing herself, sleep would certainly evade her, so she settled into Dorian’s chair and, legs slung over one armrest and head resting on the other, stared blankly at the ceiling. 

“Damnation!” Terenti exclaimed in disgust, throwing a book back down onto the table. “For the supposed center of knowledge for the most powerful organization in Southern Thedas, they really don’t have anything Tevinter  _ doesn’t _ .” 

Thinking he was alone, he continued muttering to himself as he stomped around the shelves, right past Pavus’ usual alcove. He started and dropped another book. 

“Oh. Inquisitor. What are you doing here at this hour?” 

“Gods, give me strength.” - Ilena whispered under her breath, having recovered from being startled by his first vocal outburst. She pushed herself up and leaned into the back of the chair, briefly contemplating why  _ he _ was awake, and talking to himself.

“Watching out for picky Tevinter Magisters that intend to make a mess of my carefully catalogued library.” - She rose from the velvety chair at that and willed the nearby candles alight, temporarily distracted from the day's worries, - “It seems I've caught one red-handed.”

The elf padded towards him, scanning the shelves in reach as she revisited the conversation from earlier. By all accounts, he  _ had _ been honest, she reluctantly agreed; His servants had the promised work contacts, and both, Josephine's contacts and Dorian, confirmed his origin and status. 

“There might be something… much more relevant to your interests at the basement level.” - Ghilenan concluded after finding 3 different accounts of the Chantry’s history and a set of Genitivi’s chronicles in the same row.

“If I glance at another book purportedly about magic that starts with some damn injunction about how evil it is I’ll set this whole place ablaze,” Terenti said jokingly. Probably. “If the good stuff is kept below, out of sight - well, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“So that’s me. Research and I don’t sleep much anyway. Did your men tell you of my late night habits? Is this a private liaison?” he teased again, clearly trying to provoke more yelping.

“Ugh! You insufferable-” - The elf caught the exclamation mid-sentence, her voice bouncing off the walls and waking the ravens again, - “Must you foil my every attempt at being civil with you?”

Yes, she was prejudiced against those of Tevinter, and yes, blood magic wasn't exactly her favorite area of the art, but damnit, she was trying.

_ Fine. I'll play along. _

“Yes, Terenti Sokolov, I was waiting for  _ you _ in this dark, empty library. I  _ love _ the whole Magister and elf dynamics!” - She hissed sarcastically and waved a hand in the air, thankful for the dim light that would (hopefully) conceal the angry flush rising from the base of her neck.

“I don’t like them either. A man who stoops to take advantage of his own property that way is pathetic,” Terenti said, sounding sincere enough. “ _ You’re  _ no slave of mine, though. You could have me killed with a word and that mark on your hand means your magic is much stronger than mine could ever be. It warms the blood, even if you are an elf.”  

He lifted a finger. “And for the record, this  _ is  _ my civil.” 

_ Warms the blood? _

Ghilenan couldn’t help the low, visceral chuckle at the unsettling thought, nor the annoyed sigh at how obvious but successful his intention to vex her seemed to be. It was so much easier at the Ball, where everyone was playing the blasted game. This was no court of murderous peacocks, however, and she had nothing to lose.

Save for one politically involved mage, that is.

“Oh, I’m well aware that I’m no slave, and while we’re being civil: I  _ could _ end your life right here and now…” - Arms crossed, the Inquisitor took a few calculated steps, stopping just in front of him, - “But you have me all wrong, dear Magister.”

“See, I don’t  _ need _ the Inquisition or the mark for either of those things.” - She tapped her fingers on her arms.

Terenti waved a hand. “Let’s not test it. I’d just get more excited when you win, and you  _ claim _ you don’t want that.” He gave the shortened distance between them a significant look and inflected plenty of skepticism into ‘claim.’

“You are a very,  _ very _ disturbed man.” - The elf mumbled after a pause that was just a touch longer than called for, and stepped out of his space.

_ And extremely aggravating _ , she wanted to add, but he would probably just agree and claim it’s a part of his “magnetic personality”.

“Thanks,” he said with a grin. More of a smirk, really. 

“Right, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, maybe we can finally speak plainly. Being a better option for my personal gain than the Venatori is a low bar, and while you’re somewhat excitable you don’t strike me as a madman like  _ their  _ leader. If you extend the same level of basic tolerance to me, let’s start  _ actually  _ working together. We’ve wasted enough time.” 

“Something tells me that by popular definition, I may as well  _ be _ a madman for having considered this whole thing.” - Ilena pursed her lips. Then again, that was the Chantry’s definition, and she was rather enjoying their lack of say on the matter. Their frustration and unmasked disapproval of the Tevinter mages were a nice bonus to the political connections the two had brought to the table. It was only somewhat petty, she knew, and she smiled to herself.

“But since I did, and you have yet to slaughter a random child for some unspeakably evil ritual,” - The woman shrugged, - “Let's.”

“Well, naturally. Know your audience. I don’t want to provoke Seekers and Templars who are just itching for a reason to run me through. I’ll keep the random child murder quiet,” Terenti said. It seemed to be his idea of a joke. Hopefully it was a joke. 

“Good. You’re no use to me dead.” - She gave him a light pat on the shoulder before slumping back into Dorian’s chair, - “How do you propose we collaborate? By sending a couple of pretty letters? Inviting dignitaries for dinner and making them play nice?”

Terenti rolled his eyes. “Why bother? The Elder One isn’t asking them nicely and neither should we. Send some of Leliana’s people up to my estate to work with my brother. We ferret out secrets, assassinate a few key Senators on the other side, ‘persuade’ the rest that the Inquisition is stronger than the Venatori.” 

“And that will somehow make the Inquisition look better than that mangled, delusional creature and its minions.” - Ghilenan eyed him skeptically and tapped fingers on the armrests, turning the idea over in her head, regardless, - “Do take a seat, though. You’re making me feel like an ass.”

Terenti shrugged and lounged onto a chair next to her. “Tevinter doesn’t care about better, we care about  _ stronger _ . Well, Tilani and Pavus aside. Run your course of action by him if you must. I imagine he’s warned you about me since I’m everything he despises.” 

“Fair point. Assuming what I’ve heard of Tevinter is true.” - She conceded with an almost indifferent voice, - “And if it is, I have no guarantee that your brother will play along.”

From what information one could gather from second, third-hand sources, the twins (Creators, have mercy, there’s more than one), fit the Chantry’s cautionary tales almost perfectly; And true enough, Dorian did go on an hour-long rant when he was told about the Magister. The words “deceitful” and “snakes” came up on more than one occasion; Among several other, less civil ones when he  _ really _ got into it.

“Vasili will do what I say,” the magister said in a bored tone. “I’m the heir. And far more powerful. And much better looking,” he added unprompted. 

“Anyway, we’re of one mind about this. Whatever it takes to increase the Sokolov family’s prominence. Being early backers of the winner will do nicely.” 

“An awfully bold statement.” - Ilena sat up lazily, brows drawn together, - “You must either trust him a great deal, or know him well enough to be so confident.”

“Whatever the case, I’ll make sure to run this through lady Nightingale.” - She paused to choose the right words, - “As soon as… more pressing issues are dealt with.”

Terenti nodded. “Whatever you came to the library in the dead of night to brood about, I assume…” 

“I don’t brood.” - The elf hissed and glared at him, not half as angrily as she hoped it’d come out.

“Sure. You want me to go back to the flirtatious assumption for why you came here?” 

“I’d rather you didn’t make assumptions about me at all, but that’s probably too much to ask.” - She grumbled and rose from the armchair, - “And I’ve had just about enough of your company for today.”

“Good night, Magister.” - Ghilenan gave a slight bow and took towards the staircase.

“That’s more like it,” Terenti muttered to himself. He removed parchment from his robes and started writing. A letter to Vasili with actually useful information, for once. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dusk had begun creeping across the sky over Emprise du Lion, urging the cold winds into motion as the Inquisition party trudged through the snow. Some of them had remained at the village of Sahrnia to help fend off the Red Templars that had been troubling the locals while the rest went ahead to take their camps, and finally, Suledin keep. For every templar killed and each node of red Lyrium destroyed, there seemed to be two more. Ghilenan could almost see the blasted crystals growing, spreading their tainted song through air and land and creatures foolish enough to be drawn by the mind numbing warmth, and those unfortunate enough to ingest the stuff.

Do not pity them, she reminded herself.

An easy task when the monsters lunged at them, teeth and claws bared and dripping with blood; Even easier when she discovered they could shoot shards of red Lyrium. The cuts weren’t deep, but she felt the damn things under her skin even after she’d removed them and healed the wounds. How Mistress Poulin didn’t see the threat when she sold them her quarry was as much concerning as it was complete bullshit.

“You OK there, boss?” - Bull caught up to her in a couple of strides when she grunted, more in anger than pain, honestly, - “This is a decent place to make camp if you need to do more of that magic healing stuff you do.”

“I’m fine, Bull.” - Ilena replied after swiping a hand over her side to check.

_ And we’d best get there before they put up defenses, else that will change quickly enough. _

The twin owls bathed in the sickly glow of the corrupted lyrium came into view, several Red Templars restlessly pacing between them.

“Okay, when I said I wanted to be let out of my room, getting dragged out into the freezing cold to get blood all over my nice robes isn’t what I had in mind,” Terenti complained. Why he was still in light silk robes when he’d known damn well they were going to Emprise was anyone’s guess. 

“And now we have to assault a fortress full of these monsters. Wonderful. At least they still have blood to boil. Just keep them away from my pretty face,” he said with a significant look at Bull, who just rolled his eyes. 

“Well, I thought to ask Solas to join instead, but you Vints are just  _ so good _ at taking things ,” - Ghilenan spoke with a taste of amusement in her voice and sprung a barrier with a smooth flick of her hand, its azure light washing over them, - “I couldn’t help but reconsider.”

The marksmen of the enemy took their positions at the sight of the group, nocking arrows and aiming for a clear shot while the others stalked in their direction. The Qunari grinned with concerning enthusiasm and anticipation as the shielded guards came closer, both hands on the grip of his sword.

“Besides, _you_ _agreed_ to come with us.” - The elf looked at him over her shoulder, putting emphasis on the two words, and strode towards the approaching monsters.

“Well, when I heard we’d be facing a demon I know you’d  _ someone  _ who knows how to talk to them. You’re welcome!” Terenti shouted at her back.

Only when both she and Bull were well ahead did he cast a spell at the archers, unleashing the fear demon that haunted his own mind. To untrained observers--and hopefully elven mages concentrating on their own spells--he used the same type of magic as Dorian, but where the other Tevinter merely pulled frightening wisps from the Fade, Terenti had a full entity to call upon. And per their bargain, the more he fed it, the easier he’d sleep that night. He chuckled in satisfaction as the archers screamed and cowered in place. Whatever the demon was forcing into their minds must be good. 

Ilena could scarcely hear the mage over Bull’s roaring as he swung the two-handed blade at the heavily armored guards, his punishing strikes sending sparks in the air on impact.

_ Good. He’ll deal with the charging soldiers, then. _

She let loose several balls of fire to cover her ascent towards the entrance, darting between the angry, red crystals, acutely aware of all of her senses. In the split second between driving the bladed end of her staff into one of the archers and triggering a fire glyph under her own feet to incinerate the Shadow preparing to strike at her from behind, her skin prickled and scalp tingled, and she felt a presence rush over the field as the Templars doubled over and their terrified wailing echoed through the ruins.

And then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, slithering at the edge of the Veil and towards…

_ The Magister. _

That was no simple spell, she realized with a nauseating shudder, and shot him a sharp, appalled look that he very likely didn’t notice, busy as he was playing with that…  _ thing _ .

If Terenti noticed the look, he ignored it. Several staff waves later and one of the Templar corpses Bull’s axe had decapitated rose again, shuffling zombielike to their sides. Simpler blood magic, this, with no need to summon anything particularly interesting to move the headless puppet. 

“I think I’ll call him Fred. What do you think?” Terenti commented as he swaggered up to the other two. “Shall we? There’s a whole fortress to get through, yet.” 

The Qunari let out a displeased growl when the headless creature stood beside him, his nose wrinkling as he muttered something in Qunlat.

“That’s the last of them here.” - Ghilenan stomped through the snow stained in red and shook the blood off her staff, almost gagging at the walking corpse when she reached them, - “Sort of…”

It was hideous before, but  _ now _ -

_ Right, the fucking spell _ , she remembered, and unbeknownst to her, very visibly debated with herself whether or not to unleash all kinds of verbal hell on Terenti right then and there. She decided quickly enough that now wasn’t the time, and settled for angry glares instead as she led them through the dusty hall littered with empty wagons and crates. The cages just outside reeked of death. That, and the deformed carcass of a giant roiled her stomach to the extent where she was almost glad to walk into another small camp of Red Templars.

Bull charged instantly towards them, hacking the freaks into pieces as the elf summoned roaring flames to herd them towards the rampaging Qunari.

Terenti spent the entire next fight staring at the giant’s body with a gleam in his eye. Eventually he muttered “no, too decomposed” with a sigh of dismay. At least Fred the Corpse participated, slashing at his former comrades with reckless abandon. 

Ilena clamped an arm around the neck of one of the soldiers and the fire from her free hand melted right through his helmet.

“Do you plan to join us?” - She let the body fall when it ceased shrieking and clawing at her vambrace, and grumbled at him between heavy breaths.

The ground shook when the corpse slumped. And then again, and again, the tremors getting stronger each time.

“Uhh… Boss?” - Bull put a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

“I’d come over there,” Terenti called, “but I was sparing you. You remember our discussion of how  _ excited  _ I get seeing you in action. And that fire-hand trick just got me--”

He gave a rather undignified yelp at the sight of the approaching giants, abandoned all banter, and sprinted for cover behind Bull. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” - Ilena let out a resigned sigh and blindly reached for the staff she had stuck into the ground moments before. The giants stomped clumsily towards them, groaning with every move as their infected skin stretched and oozed a sickly goo, tinted red with blood and tainted Lyrium.

“Finally!” - Bull bellowed before darting towards the hulking monsters. Thankfully, they were already heavily bleeding; Likely wounded by the Templars that were scattered over the clearing behind the giants, some of them in several pieces. The pain didn’t slow them, however. If anything, it seemed to only make them angrier, and judging by how quickly they resorted to flinging large boulders, they were in agony.

“Another Fred or two would be nice about now.” - The elf gulped nervously, and with another barrier in place over the three of them, she hurried down the distressed stairs to rain fire down on the beasts as Bull hacked at their legs.

“That’s why I was looking at the giant corpse!” Terenti said, voice an octave higher than normal. Fred lumbered forward, but one of the enormous creatures swatted him aside as if he was an irritating fly. Terenti ducked under a boulder that would have smashed him into pieces - maybe - he definitely didn’t want to test how strong the Inquisitor’s barriers were under  _ that  _ much strain. 

_ Alright, Fear -  _

_ No _ , the voice in his head hissed.  _ Those dumb brutes have no imagination. They don’t  _ fear  _ enough to feed me more than a morsel.  _ And it went silent. 

It was far from the first time the demon had refused to cooperate, and the pact left Terenti with no recourse to  _ force  _ it to. Growling in frustration, he deigned to cut his own palm and get some blood to work with. 

He slashed a gesture of command. One of the giants thudded to a sudden stop… but the creature was enormously strong, far more difficult to control than a normal man. It took all his effort to restrain it, and his plan to turn it against its fellow giants was looking like a long shot. 

Ghilenan saw the opportunity almost instantly, and shrieked at Bull to keep the other creature busy. He nodded, and she ran and scrambled up a tree, fingers digging into the rough bark as she pulled herself higher. She stood on a young branch several feet from the petrified giant’s head when the Qunari, with a feral grunt, plunged his sword into the other’s foot, leaving it struggling to free itself.

“Don’t think about falling.  _ Don’t fucking think about falling _ .” - Ilena mumbled under her breath and leapt onto the brute’s shoulders, its diseased skin barely enough to hold on to. She raised her staff, flames licking at her arms as she desperately tried to keep balance, and drove the blade into the beast’s skull before the other reached for her with a furious roar.

Bull twisted his sword in an attempt to get its attention back and barked at the Inquisitor a moment too late. She managed only a pathetic, startled squeak when the massive hand clamped around her body. She saw the giant sink to its knees, her staff still planted firmly in its head; The bright, white sky flashed in her vision, dark branches scarring its edges, and breath left her in a pained gasp when the beast slammed her into the ground - once, twice, before flinging her across the wooded clearing.

A bright purple flash of magic interrupted Bull’s next attack. When the light faded, Terenti had somehow acquired a full set of plate armor and a giant sword that was skewering the beast’s head. And he looked so incredibly pleased with himself. He wrenched his greatsword out and turned to the Inquisitor and her people, clearly expecting applause. He raised his chin and red lines on his face pulsed with magic.

Bull wiped the splatter of blood off his face before pulling the sword out of the giant’s foot. He briefly glanced where he last saw the Magister, and when he saw that Terenti was still there, he suspiciously eyed the blond man standing smugly before him. The Inquisitor gasped then, and rolled onto her back with little grace.

“Shit.” - He hissed before stomping over the rubble and battered corpses to reach the elf. She lay in the snow, coughing and wheezing at the sky, eyes half shut.

“I’m never,” - Ilena winced and reached for a potion at her waist, - “ _ ever _ ,” - she pulled the cork out with her teeth before downing it, - “doing that again.”

“You’re not very good at lying, boss.” - Bull shook his head, a touch of relief and amusement in his voice.

“Well, my help doesn’t come free,” ‘Terenti’ said. He stuck the point of his greatsword in the ground and then suddenly all of the giant’s blood burst out of its body before coalescing and shooting into the marks on ‘Terenti’s’ face and under his clothes where, presumably, more marks hid.

“Oh, and we have a situation.” - The Qunari slipped an arm under her back and pulled her to her feet when she, though with unconvincing strength, held onto a strap on his shoulder. Ghilenan steadied herself as much as her body allowed, and stalked towards ‘Terenti’ with renewed rage and a broken gait.

“You. What sort of bullshit magic are you using?” - She hissed in his face and gestured at the marks, - “And when did you have the time for  _ this _ ?!”

“Wow, rude.” ‘Terenti’ brushed some dirt off the front of his shiny cuirass. “I use only the finest Tevinter bloodmagic. I know you knife-ears can’t appreciate proper sorcery, but you should try before you offend George.”

“Knife-ear.” - Ilena blinked in surprise before repeating the slur with a low rumble in her voice, and she reached to grab at the gorget of the Magister’s armor. To knock a few teeth out, naturally. Bull caught her hand before it even reached the man, and stood between them.

_ Wait. Gorget? _

“Yyyeah, let’s not do that just yet.” - He looked back at her over the shoulder, and gestured towards the top of the stairs with a tilt of his head.

Terenti swaggered up to the group, rubbing a thumb over the cut on his palm and attempting to zip the wound closed with healing magic. He finally managed it, then glanced up at his double for the first time. His face showed a complete lack of surprise. 

“Oh,  _ you _ . I thought you were still in Tevinter. Should’ve known you were waiting to make the most dramatic possible entrance.” 

“Well, if you weren’t useless and could actually fight I wouldn’t have needed to,” Terenti’s twin said. He yanked his greatsword out of the ground and slung it over his back. He stepped away from Ilena’s grabby hands.

With the most distraught, exhausted face, the elf put a hand over her forehead, anger forgotten in favor of confusion and worry.

_ How hard did I hit my head? _

“Bull. There’s two-”

“Yeah.” - He almost growled under his breath, - “I know.”

“If you left,” Terenti said to his twin, ignoring the confused pair completely, “Who’s handling our affairs in the Senate?  _ Don’t  _ tell me you left Flavius in charge. That fool can’t manage a household, let alone politics.” 

“Of course not. I left Sandwich in charge, keep up,” the twin said.

_ Sandwich? No. Don’t ask them- him! There is no them. There is no sandwich. I’m probably unconscious and this is all a part of my injury-induced hallucination. _

Hard as she tried, the dull ache pulsing in her body made it very difficult to believe that, and gave up with an annoyed sigh. First, the bone-chilling presence outside the keep, dancing so merrily around the blasted Magister, now - the second Sokolov, with his strange tattoos and-

“That’s a blood pact.” - The elf muttered to herself, - “That is a fucking blood pact.”

“Hey, boss? You might want to sit down and catch a breath.” - Bull observed, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted and she realized she’d been leaning all her (meager) weight on the Qunari’s arm.

“I don’t. And we have a keep to capture.” - Seething in rage now, Ghilenan righted herself and yanked her staff out of the giant’s skull with perhaps more force than necessary, making its lifeless body twitch.

_ I’ll deal with the rest later, _ she resolved, stomping off further into the keep.

“Yeah, so she’s too emotional and has a short temper, like my letters said,” Terenti commented, making sure it was loud enough for Ghilenan to hear even though he spoke only to his twin. “Still think they’re a better shot than the Venatori, but I guess we’d better make sure she survives to be sure about that.” 

“As long as I get paid in advance,” the twin said. He wrinkled his nose. “George won’t cooperate if they think getting their knife-ear herald killed will get them out of paying.”

“I’m surprised George was willing to come this far without the payment plan in place. There’s still half a damn keep to clear out.” 

“Exactly.” The twin shrugged and then crossed his arms, staring at the Inquisitor expectantly.

Ilena cocked an eyebrow and walked right between the two in a petty attempt to irk them, the Qunari close on her tail.

“I do not need you or this George you keep mentioning,” - She called back over her shoulder with a fiery glare and very clear discomfort in the motion, - “so feel free to send him back when he finally arrives.”

“He’s already here  _ and  _ he saved your life,” Terenti said, shaking his head at Ilena as she passed. “Vasili couldn’t have killed that giant without him…” 

Vasili made himself glow ominously for a second. “If you’re not interested in paying, I’m sure Teren can bring the giant back to life.”

_ To carry you back home, hopefully. _

“He’s here?” - The elf turned without slowing her pace and walked a few steps backwards before stopping. She spared no more than an uninterested frown for the uninvited twin and locked eyes with the Magister.

“Oh. She’s an idiot. Yeah, I’m going home, then.” Vasili shrugged and turned away from the Inquisition forces.

“What did you think those marks were? Drawing on his face like a Dalish for fun?” Terenti sighed and rubbed his temples. “That’s George granting him power. But George only works for coin, he’s greedy like that. Since you look like you’re about to fall over any second and there’s quite a bit more fighting ahead of you, it might be wise to ask his price.” He shrugged. “I understand his rates are quite competitive.” 

“For fu-” - She stopped herself and loudly exhaled as she walked back to Terenti, - “He is an abomination waiting to happen.”

“As are  _ you _ , Magister Sokolov.” - She squeezed the grip of her staff and hissed up at him, - “Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice the demon you called upon at the entrance of the keep? Or did you actually let your pride trick you into thinking me a dim-witted child?”

“Hardly ‘abominations waiting to happen.’ George’s pact with my brother has very strict rules--and yes, so does mine.” Terenti shook his head. “We’re blood mages. We draw on forces other mages are afraid to risk. You already  _ knew  _ that. We can be useful to the Inquisition... or you can stand on  _ human _ Chantry morals and be done with us. But we’re standing in the middle of enemy territory, and time’s wasting.” He folded his arms and stared back down at her.

Vasili scratched his nose, looking bored. “Come on, Teren. She’s clearly taken being ‘Andraste’s Herald’ to heart. I know when I’m not welcome.”

_ Being manipulative must run in the family _ , the Inquisitor concluded and side-eyed the mouthier twin.

“Forgive my lack of trust for your friends from the Fade, Magister. I did not realize demons were so honorable in their dealings.” - She retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. He was right, she knew; If that Michel’s rambling was to be believed, a rather powerful demon awaited at the heart of the keep, and with the sun counting its last minutes in the sky, enemy reinforcements would likely be on their way soon as well.

_ Fine. I’d rather deal with these two than another few dozen Red Templars. _

“You can discuss payment with my ambassador.” - Ilena mirrored Terenti’s stance and dropped her voice, - “Provided that you don’t jeopardize the Inquisition’s mission here, of course. I’ll personally make sure to reunite you with George and whatever you call the other one if you do.”

“Oh, Lady Montilyet loves me,” Terenti asserted. Bull rolled his eyes. “She’s good for it,” he told Vasili (and George). 

He flashed his familiar smirk at Ilena’s threat and matched her lowered voice. “I wouldn’t even think about it. You know I’m all yours.” 

“Yes, in the same manner that you haven’t been lying by omission this whole time.” - Ghilenan sneered, actively trying not to think about how much fun this smug bastard was having by ticking her off with these remarks.

“But I’ll admit, this is no right place, nor time, to discuss these matters.” - She forced the words out and gestured at Bull to lead the way through the maze of trampled tents and snow-covered ruins.

“But there will be a discussion,” Vasili said. “George has a lot to tell you about spirits and the nature of their deals. The short version, which yes, has to be said now, stop glaring, is that it’s not the spirit’s fault if mortals are too stupid to understand the terms of the agreements they enter into.” He didn’t draw his sword again, but he did file in with the rest of the Inquisitor’s party, giving those sensitive to demons a polite distance… Or given the way his nose wrinkled, he was staying away from the smellier members.

“Aww. Poor, misunderstood  _ demons _ .” - She cooed and raised her voice to emphasise the point, - “Did the pact also include you having to speak for it?”

“ _ He _ ,” Vasili said, stressing the pronoun, “can speak for  _ himself _ just fine. He just doesn’t think you’re worth his time. Frankly, he’s right, but don’t we have a keep to take?”


	5. Chapter 5

The elf hissed in feigned offense, followed by an amused “oh, no.”, and bumped right into Bull’s back a moment later.

“Red Templars. Several soldiers, a couple of shades…” - He counted from behind a corner, and her mood almost darkened, - “They’ve got one of the big guys, too.”

“Ah, wonderful.” - She grumbled under her breath and walked right around the Qunari without losing a beat, holding her staff loosely at her side.

Vasili looked over at his twin and very obviously pointed at Bull. “Is he a real Qunari or one of the good ones?”

“Give me enough time and I’ll get that giant corpse back there up to help! -- Oh she’s going in  anyway, I guess. Show off,” Terenti muttered. 

He glanced back at his brother. “Bull’s alright. The Qunari did a whole test and he failed spectacularly and they kicked him out. Still won’t sleep with me though. More’s the pity.” Teren licked his lips in an exaggerated motion.  

Vasili wrinkled his nose again. “Shame.”

Bull let out a growly sigh and went after the Inquisitor with heavy steps. Piercing shrieks bounced off the walls moments later, and just as quickly, the sound turned into distorted noise, trying desperately to escape the low hum that could be felt as much as heard.

“Now she’s  _ really  _ showing off.” Terenti gave a lazy flick of his staff and launched a fireball into the midst of the spell that Ilena had used to trap and pull their opponents. As they burned and shrieked, he clicked his tongue in disgust and brushed someone’s charred remains off the shoulder of his robe. “How long has  _ that  _ been there.” 

“I thought that was part of your regular look.”

“That’s why I didn’t notice until I caught the smell. Eugh.” 

“Because you always look hideous?”

The fire seemed to only encourage her un-mage-like tactics of spearing things rather than firing at them from a safer distance. The elf cast a barrier on Bull when they crossed paths on the platform, and scattered several fire glyphs around herself.

“How uncivilized,” Terenti commented with a judgmental sniff, even as he caused a Red Templar’s head to explode with a gesture. “She’s even more barbaric than you.” 

Vasili cleaved another one in two with his greatsword, his marks glowing more brightly than the parasitic red lyrium. “Some of us prefer to be more effective than a wet blanket.”

Another shadow went up in flames when it stepped onto a glyph, and she ran towards it, the Behemoth, much too slow to keep up, angrily limping behind her. Ilena stepped on the thrashing, screeching monster before it could smother the fire by rolling around, and planted her staff where its nose must have been at some point. The massive beast let out a frustrated yell, then, and she turned towards it with a savage snarl.

“Mythal, preserve me,” - Her voice was harsh and tired when she spoke, - “I’ve upset you!”

Terenti was mid-spell when a rush of invisible force knocked him from his feet. Its source quickly became apparent, as one of the more still-human Red Templars still had his hand raised and pointed in the magister’s direction.

“Well, I’ve been smited,” Terenti announced. And he just stayed on his back where he’d fallen, making no effort to get up. Without magic, why bother? 

The elf had used up her mana and, very predictably, resorted to stabbing and slashing each time it allowed for no more than a lick of fire. Between dodging the Behemoth’s massive claw and delivering strikes that did little to pierce its crystallized body, Ghilenan scanned the clearing with the intention to do exactly what got her in very painful trouble before. Except, this time there was only one enormous enemy.

_ Railing’s too low _ , she ducked under the sweeping arm,  _ the statue isn’t close enough _ , she wedged the blade of her staff between two shards and twisted it, making the monster bellow in pain and swing at her again. Ilena pounced out of its reach and went for the railing anyway. She had to do a double take when she noticed the Magister was lying on the floor, with a Templar stalking towards him with careful steps.

_ Fuck. _

“Bull!” - The Inquisitor barked over the painful howls and angry growls, and the Qunari nodded before wrenching his sword out of someone’s skull and lunging towards the Behemoth. She leapt from the platform and hurled a fireball at the Red Templar when she landed. He lost his footing, and she bolted towards the mage, all but slamming onto the stone when she had reached him.

“Magister?” - With a wall of faltering fire between them and the Templar, Ghilenan checked for a pulse at the base of his jaw.

“Oh leave him, he’s  _ fine _ ,” Vasili said, cleaving his sword through the defenders. “He’s just a little baby who can’t handle Southern Templars.”

Indeed, it was quickly apparent that Terenti was not just alive, but not even unconscious. He smirked up at Ilena. “You  _ do  _ care! But yes. Just waiting for my magic to come back,” he said placidly. 

She let out a frustrated growl and shoved his face to the side.

“He was going to  _ gut _ you, you insufferable, arrogant- UGH!” - The elf aggressively gestured at the Templar dousing the fire on his tattered armor, and quickly got to her feet.

“Get up.” - She glared down at him, - “Get up or I’ll drag you up.”

Terenti shrugged and picked himself up, leaning on his staff in exaggerated fashion. “Okay, if you want, but I still can’t cast. I’m sure it’ll wear off soon. Good luck with that big one!” 

Vasili walked over to his brother and smacked him on the chest with his open palm. Heavy metal gauntlet easily overpowered Terenti’s thin robes. “There, George says you owe him.”

“I almost had it before you decided to… to play possum- Did you just do what I think you did?” - Mid-sentence, Ilena turned to Vasili, one eye on the squirming Templar, still.

Terenti gave a yelp of pain. Fire fountained from his fingers at the moment of impact; the bottom of his robes started burning. “Yes. Yes he did. Fucking George!” he complained, beating out the flames.  

“I don’t know. You’re rather slow. What did you think it was?” Vasili asked.

_ You keep thinking that, you peacock _ , she almost said, and valiantly fought against the urge to flip him off.

There was a loud clang and screech, followed by Bull’s excited “hah!” and the Behemoth’s pained wailing.

“Did you see  _ that _ ?!” - He called, or rather, roared, victoriously as the now-crippled monster lost balance and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“Yes, I saw it, I just wasn’t impressed!” Vasili shouted before turning his back on Ilena and joining the fray.

Still muttering complaints, Terenti tossed a handful of fire in the Behemoth’s direction, narrowly missing Bull. 

“A pity we didn’t bring a mirror;  _ Then _ you would have been impressed.” - Ilena muttered at Vasili’s comment and stomped towards the singed Templar to unburden him of his head while Bull set out to deliver a fatal blow to the Behemoth’s exposed neck.

Vasili came in to steal the glory, to no one’s surprise, and laid in his sword after Bull’s axe.  He carefully shook fragments of red lyrium off of his armor and sword.

“Nice,” Terenti commented as the Behemoth’s head hit the floor after the multiple decapitating blows. That seemed to be all of them, for the moment. “Tell George to eat up. Then let’s go talk to the demon in charge.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.” - The Qunari rolled his arms before picking the weapon back up, and held still only when the elf moved to yank the arrow from his back. A shallow enough hit, she concluded at a glance.

“You good?” - She gripped and pulled it when Bull nodded in assent, pointedly ignoring the brief exchange between them. Ilena cast a healing spell right after, and took towards the massive door between twin statues of Ghilan’nain.

“Oh, look, Herald, it’s your master,” Vasili said, gesturing to the statues.

“I have no master, slaver.” - She shot him a glare, voice low and full of disgust, and pushed on the heavy door.

“Really?” Vasili asked, pointedly not helping. “Because those slave brands on your face say otherwise, but hey, I’m not Dalish, what do I know. I  _ only _ have an immortal Spirit of Wisdom telling me these things.”

“I’m not here to discuss my culture with you  _ or _ your pet demon.” - The elf snapped and gave the door another hard shove.

“Whoa, whoa, George is in control here, let’s make no mistake.”

“Are we pandering to the demons now, Brother?”

“It  _ is _ part of the pact.”

“It wasn’t before.”

“Well I wasn’t trying to- Nevermind, I had to change the pact. Shut up.”

She pressed her forehead to the wooden panel and chuckled wryly.

“Do you need the big, mean humans to open the door, Miss Slave Princess?”

“Just shut up,” Bull said, before stepping forward. “Want me to get that, boss?”

“Yes, Bull. I can’t be certain that the slaver’s master will allow him to do it.” - She stepped aside with a self-satisfied smirk to let the Qunari open the door.

“Careful,” Vasili said. “George liked that. He rather enjoys owning things he likes. It’s why he became an Avarice demon.”

“Me? Being careful? Nah, I’m too much of an idiot, remember?” - Ilena pouted and stepped forward, - “George, can your human come play with the other demon for a while?”

“He says yes, but I am informing you that he is twice as likely to make you one of his own now,” Vasili said. He shrugged and hefted his sword onto his shoulder.

“Mm. I’ll be sure to call on him when I’m desperate enough to fail to see other options.” - She pulled her staff off her back and descended the stairs on the other side of the door.

Terenti sighed loudly, “I don’t think she understands how pacts work.”

“No one in the South does. I don’t know why they’re surprised when Abominations crop up everywhere,” Vasili said.

“You can lecture me all you want about that after we’re done here.” - Ghilenan waved her hand dismissively and stopped at the bottom of the steps, eyes running up and down the plain man that stood in front of a large node of red Lyrium.

“Oh, this is bad,” Vasili croaked before his eyes rolled back in his head. A moment later, they went completely black and his neck snapped at an unnatural angle.

“ **Oh, it’s you,** ” an inhuman voice said with Vasili’s mouth.

Terenti immediately went and hid behind Bull.

The Inquisitor instinctively got between the mage and the Qunari, staff pointed towards the former. Looking at his disturbing posture and thinking on the implications, she almost didn’t want to be right about the potential abomination thing anymore.

_ Almost _ .

“Hunger.” - The man crossed his arms, - “Run out of things to claim in your own domain?”

“ **You may address me as George,** ” George said. His voice was slightly less unnatural than it had been the first time. Mostly it just sounded far too deep and reliable for Vasili’s body.

“You didn’t answer my question,  _ George _ . Why are you here?” - He sounded dangerously irritated then, and the elf eyed him suspiciously, very much encouraged after Bull drew his weapon.

“ **I own this keep now,** ” George replied. He shrugged, though it was unnaturally stiff.

“Dammit, George, we could’ve made a deal with him. Now you’re gonna be an ass about it and start a fight,” Terenti complained. Though quietly. From behind Bull. 

“A  _ deal _ ?! - Ilena almost shrieked, - “Haven’t both of you made enough deals for all of us?”

“Ah, the hero finally speaks.” - The man grinned and turned towards her, - “Yes, a deal. Listen to the reasonable one.”

“ **Choice, you will deal with me,** ” George said. He made a rough gesture that looked almost human. Probably a bad sign for Vasili.

“Here we go,” Terenti muttered. “There is no  _ way  _ the Inquisitor’s and George’s combined bullheadedness doesn’t mess this up. I’d be ready with the axe.” Bull didn’t even acknowledge him.

“I deal with the one that carries the Mark.” - He smirked confidently, eyes not leaving the elf, - “True to my name, I give you a choice, Inquisitor.”

She scoffed at that, and gestured him to continue.

“We don’t fight, I grant your wish, and you leave with your  _ very violent _ friends.”

“ **It’s my keep now, Choice. Return to the Fade before you annoy me further. Your mortal shell is deteriorating.** ”

 

“What is it you crave, hero?” - Imshael briefly looked at George before continuing with a heavy dose of amusement in his voice, - “Power? Riches?  _ Virgins _ ?”

_ Great, a demon  _ and _ an abomination _ , Ilena looked back and forth between Vasili and Imshael, only half listening to the demon’s proposition.

George sighed heavily and draw Vasili’s sword. “ **The human way, then** ,” he said as he lunged forward with the blade towards Imshael.

“Fucking George. And here my coin was on Miss How Dare You Consort With Demons,” Terenti said. He twirled his staff dramatically. A Red Templar corpse loped through the door to attack Imshael too. 

Imshael disappeared in a swirling puff of smoke and materialized at the top of the stairs.

“If you won’t be smart, be afraid!” - He hissed and twisted into the shape of Fear, calling forth swarms of fearlings. Bull swept through them with punishing strikes while the fearless leader of the Inquisition backed up into a corner, nose wrinkled in disgust and eyes frozen in horror.

Vasili’s body jerked and stuttered for a moment before falling to its knees. “Ow! George! A little warning next time! Don’t just drop me like a ragdoll!”

Surprisingly, seeing the demon’s new visage didn’t send Terenti cowering behind Bull again. Instead he rolled his eyes. “You’re going with this half-baked imitation of Fear? I don’t know what’s more disappointing, that form or that it even worked on her.” One flash of sickly purple later, half the remaining fearlings turned to tear at the others. 

The demon screeched and summoned the remaining Red Templars, few as they were. Their arrival gave him the chance to fade into the air and carefully pick a target.

“Boss!” - Bull took a quick look back at Ilena and swung his blade with a feral grunt, - “You’re really going to sit this one out?”

The imitation appeared in front of her, then, and she burst into a startled yelp and searing flames.

Vasili, perhaps grudgingly, put himself between the terrified Inquisitor and the demon. He didn’t like  _ helping _ , but he liked dying even less and her magic hand was probably important.

Fear’s curses against ‘that arrogant Choice’ were strong in Terenti’s mind as he turned on the Red Templars. He happily loosed the demon onto them and grinned as they froze in terror. Shit, Fear had so much to consume today that Terenti might be able to get  _ two  _ nights of unbroken sleep. 

Ghilenan flinched away from Hunger’s puppet, muttering wordy curses as she looked around to gauge what she was dealing with, exactly. Bull and the Magister seemed rather preoccupied with the Templars and vice versa, and only hissing puddles of Fade nonsense remained of the fearlings.

Imshael, entirely disinterested in the others, lunged to strike, and reeled back from the sudden flames with an angry howl.

“Look, you half-baked excuse for a personality,” Vasili said, “I need her magic hand and since you didn’t just give George what he wants, we’re killing you. Just accept it and move on.”

“You’re out of toys, too,” Terenti taunted, watching Bull cut the Fear-paralyzed Red Templars to pieces with deadly efficiency. 

“Half-baked?” - The demon’s voice fell an octave lower and its body melted off to let the embers beneath breathe, - “I’ll show you half-baked.”

“Oh, I’m shaking in my armor. You realize I’m already half-possessed, right? There’s literally nothing you can do to me that frightens me. At worst, I’ll turn into an abomination. Oh, the horror.”

“Rage is such a cliche. I thought the Forbidden Ones would have more imagination,” Terenti said with a sniff. The effect was somewhat ruined when his lumbering summoned corpse finally caught up and tackled Imshael, promptly caught fire, and burned to ash in seconds.  

Bull’s barking laughter was cut short when a glowing boulder slammed into the demon and knocked it several feet back.

“You should have kept the  _ other _ form.” - The elf growled through clenched teeth and stressed the word with another blow, voice still trembling from the aftertaste of its effect.

“And you should have listened to the smart one.” - Imshael mocked, and the air crackled just behind him, roiling like the scarred sky above the Temple.

“Oooh this is gonna be good,” Terenti said, leaning on his staff to watch. 

With practiced efficiency, she tore into the veil and opened a rift into the Fade. The demon bellowed as it pulled at him, sucking his power and essence with every crack and rumble. Though he resisted, his movement slowed and body dissolved, flickering between Pride and Rage, screaming as Fear and wailing with the voice of Despair from the same twisted mouth. Rubble rolled across the scarred stone and towards the gaping hole, and the Anchor sent a full-body shudder through her when the rift drained its mana and tapped into hers.

“Somebody fucking kill it already!” - Ghilenan let out a strangled cry and dropped her staff to clutch and steady the violent tremble in her marked arm.

Terenti shrugged and hurled more fire at the demon, trapped as the Fade tore at him. 

With the last traces of Imshael pulled beyond the Veil, she rapidly curled her fingers into a fist, and the rift mended itself with a loud rumble. The keep fell silent, save for the labored breaths, and faint humming of red Lyrium. The elf flicked her hand in the air as the Anchor flared in small, angry bursts of energy.

“I’ll look around to see if we missed anyone.” - Bull patted her on the shoulder and wandered further into the halls.

“Call for our forces to advance when you’re done.” - Ilena spoke breathlessly and slumped onto a discarded chest, voice falling barely above a whisper as her gaze shifted towards the twin mages, - “Maybe bring a cask of mead. Or two…”

“Now  _ that  _ was some interesting magic,” Terenti said to his twin. “I wonder if we could make a deal with something else to get glowy hands?” Just to be annoying of course, but when Ilena didn’t seem to hear it, he huffed and sat down some distance away. 

Time to wait for others to clear away the corpses and set up a proper camp.


	6. Chapter 6

The Inquisition made quick work of the gored corpses and other remains of the Red Templars. It was just after nightfall that tents were set up, along with several campfires and long tables in the dusty halls that promptly filled up with chilled recruits hungry for food and celebration. Food was not abundant in the frozen wasteland that the Emprise had been turned into, but with the freshly killed game the hunters returned with, it was enough to fill their bellies. The much anticipated drink, however, served the latter better than well as the casks branded for the Inquisition were rolled in. Courtesy of Bull, no doubt, and if he had arranged for this, one of the barrels most definitely contained the sweet, ill-named knockout potion of a brew.

That was exactly the case, judging from how the Inquisitor whirled around at the sight of his mug, sniffed it, and downed half the contents before turning her attention back to the status report of the newly set-up camp at the keep. It wasn’t long before she tired of the woman’s voice and took the journal from her hands to skim through the dispatch herself.

“Good. We’ll be well-provisioned for. You can join the celebration with peace of mind now.” - The elf dismissed her with a soft pat on the shoulder, and let out a sigh of relief after she’d left.

She had mere seconds of being alone and at peace before Terenti strode up to her. He’d clearly made a good start on Bull’s brew already, given his unsteady gait. Some of it sloshed from an enormous tankard.

“Inquisitor! You work too hard,” he said by way of greeting. 

“I was almost not expecting you to make time for me this evening, Magister.” - She flung the journal towards the nearest table with a small huff and, very unsubtly, scanned him up and down when he approached.

“And you would’ve been just  _ crushed  _ if I hadn’t. It’s okay, it’s just us, you can admit it.” This proclaimed in a voice so loud the entire camp could doubtless hear, though Terenti clearly thought he was being subtle about it. 

“Naturally. Then I would’ve had to actually find you myself. I’m easier to find. Glowy hand and all.” - Ilena wiggled her digits in the air, and absent-mindedly pushed the tilted flagon straight with a finger, - “Is this about the cold or the bland food this time?”

“Nah, this is all half-decent,” he said, in a tone of someone offering high praise. “You know why I’m here. You tore a  _ Forbidden One  _ to pieces with that mark. I knew you were powerful, but that was just…” He searched for the word, kept searching, gave up, swigged, and blinked at her as if waiting for her to say something. 

“Ah,” - She hesitated at the unexpected turn he took and continued with a wary tone, - “You’re on your own there. I’m afraid seeing into the minds of others is not a skill I possess.”

_ There must be a whole lot of rum in that crap, _ she thought to herself and tasted her tongue to check.

“I forgot what I was - Oh yeah. You. Tearing ancient super powerful demons apart. Got me going,” Terenti said with what he thought was a suave movement of his eyebrows, but was mostly just twitchy. 

“And  _ there’s _ the reason you staggered up to me.” - Ghilenan rolled her eyes and dropped her voice to a sorry imitation of his, - “‘Hmm, what will it be today? Complaining about the inadequacies around me or making the Inquisitor uncomfortable?’”

“That’s sort of what I  _ do _ , Magister.” - She threw up her arms in unrestrained frustration, - “I don’t need you playing the hungry hound every time I tear some bastard a new one, just to get a cheap sense of satisfaction from agitating the ‘Herald of Andraste’.”

“I’m certainly hoping for satisfaction,” he smirked. “Though it’d be mutual.” 

“It’s done, Sokolov. Go lie down,” - She grumbled as the heat in her face called bullshit before she could finish, - “You’ve clearly had one too many drinks to be even remotely efficient at this stupid game of yours.”

Terenti stepped closer to her. “I assure you, I'm in good enough shape for our purposes.” He drained half a mug in one go, shuddered, and spilled a little as the flung it down. Not quite as empty as he'd assumed.

“Careful,” - Ilena warned and stubbornly stalked forward, resolved to standing her ground this time, - ”Someone might hold you to your word someday.”

She almost rolled her eyes at how  _ pathetic _ that sounded.

_ No matter, he's fried half his senses already. It shouldn't sound different to him. _

“If you insist.” 

Any part of his mind that told him this might not be the best idea had long been suppressed by three mugs of Bull’s brew. It was only natural, with her glaring up at him like that, to rise to the challenge, seize her, stifle any protest with an insistent kiss.

Breath left her lungs with a muffled sound that she'd probably kick herself for later. Definitely not now, not with blood drumming in her ears and the taste of that terrible, sweet drink on his mouth, so she grabbed a fistful of his robes and yanked him- well,  _ herself _ , closer.

_ Impossible, audacious bastard, _ Ghilenan seethed, more about the weakness in her knees than at his stupidly bold behavior.

Some time later, when he had to pull back a little to take in breath, Terenti’s expression settled into its seemingly default smirk. “I wasn’t  _ playing  _ at wanting you,” he said, throwing the earlier words back at her. 

“My doubts were more than reasonable.” - She rasped between greedy breaths.

_ Unlike this, _ the thought mocked through the haze as she released her grip on the silk in favor of snaking her fingers in his hair and pulling him back in.

“Tent?” he suggested some minutes later. His head was a good deal less hazy, as he’d managed to remember enough basic healing magic to put it right. He wanted to be sober if this was happening. 

“Yes,” - Ilena breathed and quickly scanned the pitch dark corners of the yard, only to shake her head a moment later, - “No. Rooms just up the stairs. Should’ve been made presentable by now.”

She pushed herself away from him and stepped back towards the staircase, eyes catching the scant light that spilled from the buzzing hall.  _ You wouldn’t, if it weren’t for the drink,  _ it taunted again, and she lifted the cozy blanket of rum-induced fog from her mind as she turned to start up the steps. Just to check.

That the prospect still sent a tingle down her spine and coiled low in her stomach was equal parts concerning and electrifying.

Miraculously, nobody seemed to have noticed any of it, though Terenti had been far from subtle. Or quiet. He let Ilena take the lead now, content to let her pick whatever place suited her. It hardly mattered to him where he took her. And maybe if she thought she was in control he’d be able to do it again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK can TaKe a trip right to hell.

The demon had been more than satisfied with its Red Templar feast and punishing Choice. Terenti dreamed of nothing but his undisturbed, protected piece of the Fade--which was just as well, as the previous day and especially the night had been rather physically demanding. He slept deeply and completely, with loud and contented snores. 

It wasn’t until late morning that the weariness wore off enough for the dead weight on her chest to bother the elf awake. She was parched and suddenly very aware of every sore muscle in her body; Save for the leg pinned under Terenti. Ilena shifted to detangle herself and let out an annoyed sigh when her effort made things even worse. She tried to push his arm off, peeved at the empty space he’d left at the  _ other _ side of the bed.

“Move.” - She grumbled and gave him a half-assed shove.

“Go away. I’m sleeping,” Terenti complained, eyes still closed. 

“Yes! On my leg!” - Ghilenan hissed through the teeth and swatted at his arm, still draped over her ribcage.

He only grunted. Apparently the magister was not a morning person. 

“Have it your way.” - She growled under her breath and drew on the Fade to blast him damn near off the bed.

Terenti landed on the floor with a yelp. “ _ Ow _ . Rude.” He picked himself up carefully and smirked down at her. “Thought last night would’ve cheered you up.” 

“How selfless of you to put yourself through all this just to lift my spirits.” - She cooed, the sour expression not leaving her face as she rubbed some feeling back into her leg, and regretted it the moment ants started marching under her skin.

“Hardly. I did it for me.” He yawned and stretched. “I’m hungry. And thirsty. Let’s get your legion of holy servants to come in and serve us.” 

“No, I think you do care.” - Ilena said flatly as she pulled on her tunic and stepped into her breeches. Hard as it was to not crack up, she managed.

“Well, enough to do that again anytime,” Terenti leered, flopping back onto the bed to lie down again now that she’d vacated it. “Like now.”

“I thought you were hungry,” - The elf allowed herself a chuckle and narrowed her eyes as she finished off tying the laces on her boot, - “and thirsty. They should still have what you were downing last night.”

“I am hungry. Weren’t you listening?”

“And I’m dressed. Weren’t you looking?”

“That’s easily remedied.”

Ilena only scoffed at that and busied herself with righting her hair, very intent on not thinking about what he’d suggested, and very miserably failing.

“Right, well, I’m actually hungry, so…” - She sputtered and made for the door before the flush could reach her face.

“You know where to find me,” he laughed, before sprawling back out on the bed for more sleep.

The air outside was cold and dry, and her breath left puffs of smoke as she rushed through the buzzing courtyard. The soldiers that noticed her, gave their salutes, the Orlesian-sounding non-Orlesian flashed his teeth in a smile that, were she to return it, warned of endless small talk, and the empty hall ahead promised sanctuary.

But the promise was a lie. Terenti’s twin was lounging on top of one of the tables doing… something. He was lowering food into his mouth, but in seemingly the least efficient way possible. Ilena squinted at him, trying to decipher what was going on.

_ Oh right, Magister. _

He was pretending to be a slave lowering food into his own mouth. She didn’t know just how disgusted or full of pity she should be. Before she could make up her mind, he turned to her and his tattooed face turned down into a deep frown.

“Tell me you didn’t fuck Terenti. Come on. Have some taste, Inquisitor.” He gestured to himself, dirty armor, awkward lounging and all.

_ Fuck. Who told- Does he actually know? _

Ilena almost panicked and turned to leave right then and there, but she quickly reconsidered; That would be as good as jumping straight into a rift. Except, the latter would be over quickly.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” - Her nose wrinkled in anger, and she tore a chunk of bread off the loaf in her reach.

The twin sighed dramatically. Vasili, that was his name, right? He tossed the perfectly good half-eaten fruit in his hand onto the floor. “Well come here. I’ll put you to rights, show you what you missed.”

“I’ll be content with you fucking yourself, actually.” - The elf pulled up a wobbly stool and sat, a tight frown on her face.

Vasili shrugged and put his hands on his belt. “So you wanna watch? That’s fine. The marks go everywhere. I can’t blame you.”

She almost choked on the bite she’d taken just then, and hurled the rest at him with a feral grunt.

“Both of you are completely  _ mad! _ ” - Ilena managed between wheezes and stood to stomp out of the hall.

“You’re the one who fucked him!” Vasili shouted after her.

“I’ll flay you alive the first chance I get.” - She barked over her shoulder and crossed the courtyard in a different sort of rush this time. Only after furiously closing the tent flap did she clamp teeth over her forearm to muffle the angry shriek. Ilena paced in the scant space the messenger’s tent offered, muttering all sorts of profanities she’d been saving all the way from Skyhold. She seethed until a raven perched just outside the entrance and broke into an annoying chorus of caws and squawks. It flinched when the Inquisitor sharply pulled aside the canvas, and screeched louder.

_ Plucky _ , she grumbled and  _ very carefully _ removed the attached message before rushing him into a cage at the desk, with plenty of food to keep him from fussing. The parchment was rolled tightly and packed with small font, and she stepped outside to skim through it. A report from Nightingale’s agent in the Marches.

_ Our operatives harassed the enemy and created enough confusion for the Dalish to withdraw safely to a more defensible area. _

_ After investigation, your suspicions were correct: these are bandits in name only. Though they wear no colors, they are mercenaries, bought and paid for by Duke Antoine of Wycome himself. _

“Two-faced bastard.” - Ilena spat quietly and turned the paper over after several more lines.

_ Antoine evidently chose to use Clan Lavellan as a scapegoat. His surreptitious move against the Dalish was an attempt to convince his nobles that he was taking action. _

_ Suspicions in the city remain high. I can gather information, but any action on my part will be high risk. _

Her expression only soured more as she read on, and with an excessive amount of magic, she lit the lanterns in the tent before going back inside to send back her instructions.

“Oy, Inquisitor, are you going to spend all day trying to make yourself pretty in there, or is there work to do? Because I have a lot of sleep to catch up on. You snore,” presumably Terenti shouted from outside the tent.

Her eyes almost bore burning holes through the canvas in his direction, but instead of raining fire on him, she looked back down at the empty parchment in front of her and closed the tent flap with a small twitch of her hand in the air.

“Jealous, Vas?” Terenti strode up towards the tent a moment later, in time to catch the impersonation. He started to smooth the hair he’d left artfully ruffled, just for the effect. 

“Shut up, Teren. You’re not allowed to fuck world leaders without me. We made a deal.”

“You weren’t  _ here  _ until yesterday. I can’t help it if she couldn’t resist me any longer.” 

Though she was only half listening, the noise made it near impossible to think. Paired with the hunger and the dryness in her throat, it only served to contribute to the throbbing in her head, and she crumpled the report she’d been  _ trying _ to re-read. Again.

“Do the two of you  _ ever _ tire of your voices?” - Ghilenan finally snapped, more than a little upset with how it sounded more tired than angry.

Vasili joined her in the tent and ripped the report out of her hands even as he said, “No.” He scanned it in a moment. “Seems pretty straightforward. I see knife-ears in the South don’t learn how to read, either.”

“Give that back, you bag of waste-” - She shot up and grabbed for his wrist, - “This is none of your business.”

Vasili easily held the page out of her reach and passed it over to his twin.

Terenti quickly read the message, then nodded. “This Duke is the problem. Kill him and be done.” 

“This is why you always lose at chess. The duke has already pinned the city’s troubles on the Dalish. I mean, if you  _ want _ them all murdered, by all means, assassinate the duke,” Vasili said.

“What else is there to do? More talking won’t change their minds and Cullen’s people take  _ forever  _ to get anywhere.” 

“Are you deaf?!” - Ilena gave up on getting the parchment back and sent it up in flames with a snap of her fingers in an act of spite.

“Just evacuate them to the castle  _ then _ assassinate the duke,” Vasili said. He paused with an odd expression on his face. “George agrees with me. Mostly.”

“That is not an op-” - She shook her head mid-sentence, - “Why am I discussing this? With  _ you _ ?”

“You’re the Blighted Inquisitor,” Vasili said with a scoff. “Anything you want is an option.”

“And you’re a highborn shem,” - The elf ground between her teeth, - “Your warped views do not apply here. Not for my people.”

“Excuse me for not trusting the ‘shems’ in the Free Marches to respect literally anything you do. If you don’t want those knife-ears to die, you get them out of danger’s reach, the end,” Vasili snapped back.

“George does have a point,” Terenti shrugged. “Elves are always great scapegoats. It says so right--” He glanced at the pile of ash. “Well, it  _ said  _ something like that.”  

She glared at Terenti, hands curled into tight fists at either side of her, and lifted her eyes to meet Vasili’s.

“It’s not their ‘respect’ I want, Tevinter.” - Ilena switched to Elven, then, - “I’m well-aware your kind has none for mine.”

“Then you should know better than to trust them to keep your people safe, but if this is the hill you want  _ them _ to die on, by all means, go ahead,” Vasili said in Trade without missing a moment to translate.

“Get out.” - She stepped backwards to the desk and turned to slump onto the lone chair in the tent.

“She’s on the rag, isn’t she?” Vasili said as he took his sweet time leaving.

“ _ Now _ .” - Ilena growled without looking back, for fear that she’d start tearing up in frustration.  _ Pathetic _ .

Terenti shrugged and followed his brother out. 

It took what felt like hours for her to word the letter, and with that, Antoine’s fate was sealed; He’d be dead before taking further action, and his nobles would scramble in fear for their own necks. This would buy her the time to get her people to safety, and travel to Wycome to personally deal with those in charge.

She sent two ravens for good measure, and checked the lock on Plucky’s cage before dimming the lamps and leaving in search for the captain, to order departure to Skyhold at daybreak. With the birds already well out of her range of sight, there was no turning back, no space for doubt. If fate was kind, at least one of them would reach the Spymaster by nightfall, and the Free Marches would have one less Duke within a week’s time. Josephine would find a ship and arrange an escort for her clan, and she’d be there to welcome them. Ilena couldn’t contain the stupid smile at the thought and all but skipped down the frozen steps towards the barracks.

There was a chance she had just made a terrible mistake, but doubt choked her only when she had time to think, so Ilena busied herself with this and that to make sure she didn’t. Not nearly soon enough, the mounts were saddled, and the party set out on the jagged, windy path to Skyhold.


	8. Chapter 8

It was midday when the Inquisitor’s party reached the gates of Skyhold. For man and mount alike, the journey from the Emprise had been taxing at best, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the portcullis was raised, the keep’s tall walls offering shelter from the howling wind outside. Scouts had already announced their arrival, and the soldiers and the help poured into the courtyard to get them settled in.

The Inquisitor rode in last, exhaustion evident on her face. She dismounted with usual ease, however, and handed the reins to a hesitating stable boy that the demon horse was already eyeing dangerously. Ilena normally cooed something in Elven to more or less calm the animal, but now she managed only to open her mouth before one of Cullen's men rushed to her side.

“My apologies, Inquisitor, you must wish to rest after your travels, but the Council humbly requests your presence.” - He spoke louder than strictly necessary, and added after a short, nervous pause - “They said, at once.”

The man clearly didn't know the reason for their summons, but the urgency made Ilena’s stomach twist. She let him lead the way through curious refugees and the swarm of nobles that awaited in the main hall, and though his steely, impassive face wasn't half as effective as the other recruit's frown, the walk to the war room was brisk.

It was never good news when they needed her "at once”. They probably had news from the Marches this time; Good or bad, that would certainly warrant a spontaneous meeting, and even the short distance from the yard gave her time enough to play through every horrible scenario, only to dismiss them all as “unlikely” or “unreasonable”.

Or at least she told herself that she did.

The soldier slapped a fist to his chest when they'd reached the door, and hurried off as the hinges gave a metallic creak at her push. The murmur in the room died the moment Ilena stepped over the threshold, and the war council exchanged uneasy glances. She caught Cullen’s eyes dart to the small piece of parchment on the table, and her skin prickled at the dread his face betrayed.

“Your Worship, welcome back,” - Josephine finally started and cleared her throat, - “We’re glad you’ve returned safely.”

Ghilenan propped the dragonbone staff against a wall and pulled her gloves off as she padded towards the table to reach for the distressed paper. Seeing Keeper’s script almost knocked the air out of her lungs and she snatched it up with little grace.

_ Da'len, _

_ I know not whether this will reach you. The Duke of Wycome is dead, and the soldiers of Wycome blame us. All the elves in the city have been killed, blamed for some plague that only strikes down humans. Now they hunt us as well. _

_ Most of the clan is already dead. _

_ Live well, da'len. You carry Clan Lavellan with you. They are coming for us. _

The words blurred together as tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned the parchment over, looking for more, hope against sense, her entire being desperately clinging to the former.

Nothing.

Her lip quivered and her heart sank in guilt and sorrow, glassy eyes looking around the room, silently begging for someone to do something. She picked up only bits and pieces of whatever the advisors may have said then; Something about time, and death, and ‘impossible’.

She planned, no,  _ hoped _ , to go back to her people once the Inquisition business was over and done with, and dizzy with the painful realization that there was nothing to return to anymore, she leaned on the table with both hands, head hanging low. No more careless dances around the fire under evening’s cold cloak, or slow, warm afternoons spent listening to the storyteller’s tales that became less and less believable the more she grew. And in the silence that drew on for what felt like forever, someone sighed.

“I need to go.” - Ilena finally mumbled, her voice barely audible even in the silent room, and the advisors shifted uncomfortably. Her clan was numerous, with more than enough hunters and warriors to protect it, and Deshanna had kept them alive and safe for decades.  _ Someone _ must have survived.

“Herald?” - Cullen stalked towards her when she didn’t move, brows drawn together in confusion on his perpetually exhausted face.

“I need to go.” - With a brittle voice, the Inquisitor repeated and straightened her posture.

“Go? Where?” - He stopped only a pace away.

“I am sworn to protect my Keeper, and my clan. Whatever is left of it.” - The elf reached for the gloves stuffed into her belt and slipped them on.

“The Inquisition’s resources are spread too thin. There’s no way we can gather enough forces to do  _ anything _ of this scale in the Free Marches.” - Cullen gestured vaguely at the map, - “Not at such short notice, at any rate.”

“He’s right, Inquisitor. This is not a wise decision.”

“Neither was assassinating the Duke.” - She snapped at the Spymaster. In her mind she chastised Leliana for the suggestion, and herself even more so for thinking that the shems would get the right message for once. The fact that the vexatious Vints were right about  _ this _ of all things, served only as salt in her wounds.

“Your Worship, the Inquisition can’t-”

“I  _ am _ the Inquisition.” - Ilena cut Josephine off with a snarl, - “And I  _ will _ .”

She grabbed the staff and stormed out of the war room while the stunned silence lasted, her mind jumping from one terrible plan to another.

“Inquisitor, with all due respect,” - Cullen caught up to her in the Ambassador’s office and blocked the door to the main hall with his body, - “I must insist that you refrain from putting yourself in danger for a lost cause.”

“Commander,” - The elf rumbled, and the leather gave an audible creak as she curled her fingers into a tight fist, - “Get out of my fucking way before I scatter your teeth across the floor.  _ With all due respect. _ ”

“Ooh. Where are we going?” Terenti watched Ilena threaten Cullen with undisguised curiosity. . The twins showed their typical poor timing by, apparently, having just been wandering through the main hall at that precise moment.

“Are you tired of him, Inquisitor? Can George eat him? George isn’t fond of him.”

_ I might feed him to the wolves if he doesn't, _ she wanted to say, and her mouth twitched from her effort to stay silent. Instead, she grumbled and shoved Cullen aside with force magic to dart through the door, ignoring the surprised gasps in the hall as she passed through the gathering crowd. He was about to turn to the twin mages when the ambassador pulled on his arm and gave him a warning glare.

“My apologies. It is just a personal matter; Nothing to concern yourselves with.” - Josephine put on her best polite smile once the commander left in the same direction as the Herald, and the help shuffled over at the wave of her hand, - “You both must be exhausted after your travels.”

“I  _ am _ exhausted, actually,” Vasili said loudly. He stepped in front of Josephine and completely obscured her view of anything other than his armor. Behind his back, he gestured for Terenti to follow his little knife-ear out. “And my contract hasn’t been finalized yet.”

Before Cullen could catch up and protest, Terenti walked quickly out of the hall and after Ilena, elbowing through the herd of gossipers. 

While lady Montilyet begrudgingly settled with keeping only one of the twins in her sight, Ilena sped down the stairs outside, well-aware of the footsteps behind her, and no doubt looking completely insane from rage and whatever other emotion she refused to process.

“What are you doing?” - She all but wheezed when she stopped and turned abruptly just before the arch at the bottom of the staircase, the lump in her throat making it near impossible to breathe.

“Checking up on you,” Terenti said evenly. “I’m not a complete idiot. Obviously something horrible just happened.”  

Ilena regarded him suspiciously, still sore about the fiasco in the messenger’s tent, and very much unhappy with the idea of giving him the chance to gloat about being right.

_ He'll find out anyway and it'll be worse then, _ she admitted with a reluctant sigh.

“It's not horrible. It's  _ bad _ , but it'll be fine if-” - Her voice almost faltered, and she corrected herself in an instant, - “ _ When _ I make it there.”

“Wycome? They’re retaliating against your clan, aren’t they.” His tone wasn’t accusatory or gloating, just matter-of-fact.

“A bit harsh, don’t you think? To punish dozens for one woman’s faulty judgement.” - Ghilenan turned away and laughed, a bitter sound from the back of her throat.

“They're fools, and deserve every bit of the punishment we’re going to rain down on them,” Terenti said, shrugging. “How soon do we leave?” 

Rendered speechless, she only blinked at him, and backed under the archway when Cullen’s awkward, annoyed mumbling and exaggerated Orlesian cooing reached the top of the stairs.

“As soon as the horses are saddled.”

“Right. Let’s go, then.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s p i c y

Ghilenan had no actual plan until Leliana “stumbled upon” them at the stables, with one foot already in the stirrups. She had the map for the nearest docks, and she had coin enough to bribe a captain  _ and _ hire some sellswords in the Free Marches. There she would hopefully find the survivors, make contact with the Inquisition agents in the area, and… and figure something out. Like she always did. But she had to admit that the spymaster’s idea was better by all accounts; Dock at Jader to sail to Amaranthine, where her contact would arrange for the travel to Hercinia, and somewhere between there and Wycome, a part of Prince Sebastian Vael’s forces would join them. “Them” being the Inquisitor, the twin mages, and Varric, who  _ probably _ lied about having to run some errands in Kirkwall on the way back; Accompanied by a dozen warriors lady Nightingale may have blackmailed into agreeing to this, of course.

With the ravens already on their way to Starkhaven and Amaranthine, there was no smooth way to call it off, and when Leliana handed her the incriminating documents that could do irreversible damage to the ruling family’s reputation, she didn’t want to.

The preparations somewhat delayed the departure, but it made no difference as to whether they’d reach the ship in time or not, and aside from the relentless winds in the mountains and on the sea, the travel to the docks of Amaranthine was bearable. The Inquisitor kept to herself for the most part, getting by on little food and less sleep, spending the days either staring at the roiling waters ahead, unblinking, or scratching things in her journal, violently at times.

Amaranthine came into view late in the morning, and Leliana’s contact, a stocky, greying man had them settled in the local inn soon enough. He was efficient as promised, in securing passage on the next ship for the party, and even convincing the captain to set sail earlier than planned. They were to leave at dawn, and though that was objectively very soon, sitting at inn felt like trudging through the rift-warped areas at Redcliffe while the rest of the world moved at its usual pace.

By evening, when her eyes kept losing focus as she tried to scan the hall on the ground floor, Ilena had to confess that the lack of sleep may have had caught up to her. The room was stuffy and dimly lit, and the constant buzzing of the tired patrons, though not one bit as soothing, was as close to lulling her to sleep as her father's humming used to be. Another thing that would be taken from her, should things go wrong. Heck, he may have already been-...

The elf shot up from the stool with renewed ire, and after brief hesitation, she started towards where she'd last seen the Vint. The slightly less annoying one. Other options were worse. Really. Varric would try to get her to sleep, and he'd probably be right, which somehow made it a bad thing, Vasili would say something she might try to kill him for, and alone… Alone she had too much time to think and imagine and worry.

_ The Magister it is, then. _

Terenti was stretched out on his bed, but fully clothed and awake, the door standing open. He was reading from an ancient tome that practically screamed blood magic, between the ominous red stains, the glowing lettering, and the fact that the binding looked suspiciously similar to someone’s skin. He glanced up as Ilena stepped into the doorway. 

“Inquisitor.” 

“You’re busy.” - Ilena observed, sounding almost disappointed.

He shrugged and closed the book (did she imagine it, or did an ominous chord of music play as he did?) Then, sitting up on the bed, he flashed the familiar smirk. “I can read later. It’s no trouble to make time for you.” 

She wrote it up to weariness playing tricks with her senses, and dismissed it entirely, along with the one alarm screaming ‘bad idea’ as she crossed the room.

“I don’t know,” - The elf mumbled, eyeing the book, - “that looks like a better read than any of the stale, Southern volumes. I’d hate to interrupt.”

“Here to finally take me up on learning blood magic? Somehow, I doubt it.” 

She gave a tired chuckle and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m afraid there are enough blood mages in this tavern. One more, and the local chantry folk might start catching fire.”

“But just imagine the look on everyone’s faces. It’d be worth it.” 

“Ah, there it is. The part where the evil Magister tries to corrupt Andraste’s gift to the faithful.” - Ghilenan put on an offended face, - “How dare you.”

Terenti lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure many tongues are wagging. First Pavus and now two more evil Vints. Is that what’s kept you away from my room at night?” 

“Oh, forgive me for not crawling back to you for another drink-inspired fuck.” - Ilena rolled her eyes. The feigned offense had found purchase and her skin flushed and bristled; Even more when she realized that the cause of her irritation was the notion that she was expected to  _ care _ what they thought. Those nosy, self-righteous prats.

“Far from it. We’re both perfectly sober, and here we are.” His eyebrows moved again, this time in a suggestive waggle. 

“If riling me up is your way of getting me into bed,” - She hadn't even finished the thought when the alarm called 'bad idea’ again, - “you must have completely lost it.”

“Hey, you’re the one that came to my room in the middle of the night. You don’t like me, but you want me. I can tell.” 

“I came here to talk, Magister. Perhaps you're projecting your own desires.” - Ilena cocked an eyebrow as she, very pettily, quoted him from weeks ago.

“Both can be true,  _ Inquisitor _ .” He met her gaze with an insolent one of his own. 

_ Cocky little shit, _ she thought to herself and briefly considered choking the smugness out of him.

“How confident are you in that?”

“Very,” Terenti said with annoyingly smug self-assurance. He looked her up and down. “Desperate look in your eyes. Haven't slept. Threw on clothes with no thought of appearances... You're not here to talk. You're here for a distraction.” 

“I’ll show you 'desperate’.” - Ilena hissed after silently glaring at him for a beat, and almost blew the door off its hinges when she slammed it with a twitch of her hand.

“Get on your back.”

 

\--------

 

Ilena was awake. Normally not a problem. She was awake more than half of the time. The problem... There were two problems. One, she wasn't comfortable despite the very convenient spell that seemed to do nothing except make the bed more comfortable which she would never admit to wanting to learn. The second was that she has feigned immediately falling asleep after her... Encounter with the magister and now he was asleep... Partially on top of her. 

Her ear twitched. She fidgeted, but no, her legs were trapped under his. She tried to roll over, but he was a deadweight and she was exhausted - not by  _ him _ , of course not, no, she hadn’t slept in days was all - and couldn’t waste the energy to shove him off.

Terenti wanted nothing better than to drift to sleep, but kept conscious by sheer effort of will. His eyes were closed and his breathing was perfectly even as he focused upon it to still his mind. In, out, in. Nothing like the obnoxious snoring from last time, the time he’d, mercifully, been able to simply pass out. 

As the elf kept twitching, he couldn’t help an annoyed, telltale growl. 

_ Three _ . There were  _ three _ problems. He was either very much awake, or a light sleeper, and her squirming and irritated huffing wouldn't go unnoticed and unquestioned for long. It was warm, which wasn't necessarily bad, the opposite, actually, but fending off sleep was quickly becoming a losing battle, and the last thing she wanted to do was to wake up next to  _ him _ with a piteous cry of panic. The Magister had to move, and Ilena shifted again, in the hopes of bothering him into moving.

“Just lay fucking still,” Terenti snarled, opening red rimmed eyes to glare. 

“Excuse me?” - Ghilenan rumbled and returned his glare with a defiant scowl as she leaned on her elbows, though it took more effort than she initially wanted to make.

“You’re not going to sleep. You don’t want any part of what a demon will say to you right now. It happens. So just lie quietly until morning. There’s no need to be so dramatic about it,” the magister said, giving a short, annoyed sigh. 

“Dramatic? Really? You were the one that almost let a Templar kill him because his magic was briefly sundered.” - She scoffed and put her head back down with a small huff.

“That reminds me. Which ones show up for you? Guessing some sort of Fear from how you squealed once Imshael used that form,” Terenti said with little sympathy.

“ _ I don’t squeal _ .” - Ilena growled and wrenched her limbs free to turn her back to him, skin prickling in a whole array of ugly feelings.

“Well, it's one of the worst. I'm sure you know Rage and a good amount of Pride, but everyone's afraid of something. No matter how much you pretend when awake, you can't fool primal Fear. It always knows exactly what to show.” He spoke clinically until the end, when he descended into the kind of gruff tone that was clearly affected.

She barely stifled a bitter laugh at the change of tone and twisted just enough to look at him over the shoulder, silently, for a couple of moments.

“Let me guess,” - Ilena tried to sound patronizing, - “you and your pet demon don’t get along very well.”

“The pact has its price. It’s nothing I can’t handle, but one can’t learn blood magic without ceding  _ something _ .” 

“Does it hog the blanket?” - She hummed and leaned on her elbows, - “I have to know, if I’m to be tempted by your suggestion.”

“Not quite. It shields my dreams from those that would truly tempt me - Pride, Desire, Sloth; but it isn’t exactly pleasant to have around. I inflict it on others, instead, when I can,” Terenti said vaguely. 

“And the evil Magister gets to sleep peacefully when his hound is well-fed.”

“A crude metaphor, but more or less accurate.” 

“No wonder you're so unhinged.” - Ilena mumbled almost incoherently, an attempt at humor cut short as her voice trailed off and lidded eyes froze on the wall behind him.

Terenti sighed and shoved the elf to shake her awake. 

She caught his wrist with a rapid swipe and put her weight on it when she rose and shot a fiery look down at him.

“There's no need for that yet.”

“If you’re sure. If you go abomination, we’re all fucked. Nobody else has the glowy hand.” He shrugged his free arm slightly. 

“I'm not new to magic,  _ Terenti _ , and I've no intention of becoming a demon’s doorway through the Veil.” - The elf stressed his name and moved to hover over him, - “What I  _ do _ intend to do is go and set something on fire. Unless you’re up for something a little more distracting.”

“Two mages? As if we couldn't manage both.” He smirked a challenge and pulled her down on top of him. 

“Ma nuvenin.” - She smoothed heated hands up his throat with wicked delight, eyes trained on his face as she tightened her grip and snarled just a breath away from his lips, - “I’ll have you blazing before long.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ilena still hasn't learned: no, he actually likes that.
> 
>  
> 
> or has she?

Purple liquid moved lazily in its flask as the sea rocked the ship, and Ghilenan stared at it from across the dusty, wooden table. She didn’t buy the potion with the intention of using it on herself. Not before reaching Hercinia, anyway.  _ Just in case, _ she told herself, and the merchant in Amaranthine parted easily with it at the sound of coin. “Dip a blade in it and stab away,” the man had said, “You can even throw it in the blighter’s face, now that I think about it. Should be enough subdue more than one.” She shushed him, and he nodded with what he meant to be a knowing smile when she stuffed the vial into her pack.

Had he recognized her as a mage, he would have probably kept the potion and the unprompted instructions to himself, and with lungs full of its bitter, mind-numbing smell, she was beginning to think that would’ve been for the best. It would probably leave a lasting aftertaste, both physical and spiritual, but it would also temporarily cut her off from the Fade, which should’ve been motivation enough after the first night on the ship, when the gentle swaying of the waves lulled her to sleep.

Bony, cold hands pulled her to the bottom of the ocean, fingers twisted in her hair and nails tearing at her skin as the rotting corpses climbed over each other to condemn her with the mouths of her people. Her stiff limbs did little to fight their hold, and she wept when they chanted fault and failure. The elf awoke only when something old and powerful chased away the demons that wore the faces of those she dared hope to find alive, and its song, familiar and oddly comforting, almost soothed her enough to stay suspended in its dark, quiet corner of the Fade.

_ Sloth, perhaps? _ Ilena reached for the flask and gave it a light, irresolute shake, gooseflesh rushing across her skin.

“There you are. If I’d lost another of Tethras’ games of Wicked Grace, I’d have--” Terenti stopped and blinked down at Ilena… and the very familiar concoction in her hand. “You want to use magebane next time we go to bed? Risky, but I like it.”

“That's not… well, sort of, yes.” Ilena sputtered and put the potion down to rub her face. She lazily corked the vial and looked up with a wry smile, “I was thinking of getting a head start, but you caught me.”

“You ever tried it before? There was this one time with this Antivan Crow… Let’s just say I didn’t realize she was trying to kill me until it was almost too late. Still, it was worth it,” he said with a dreamy look in his eyes. 

“No, I’ve never ‘tried’ it before! You’re making the blasted thing sound like some… some… exotic dish!” The elf frowned at him, then at the potion, and let out an uneasy huff.

“Well, it’s not exactly a wise game to play with someone you don’t trust. I learned that from the Crow. But I think if you were going to poison and kill me, you would’ve done it a long time ago,” Terenti said with a shrug. “Though I will say there wasn’t any eating involved. I am  _ me _ .”

“Ah, well, I’m glad to know  _ that’s _ not how she dosed you.” She rolled her eyes without even looking at him, and almost angrily yanked the cork back out to down a couple of gulps, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Ooh, yeah, I would’ve recommended measuring that out a little more precisely…” Terenti produced a vial from his robes that was, for reasons Ilena would probably prefer not to thank about, marked at the exact amount of magebane he could safely consume.  

Between bracing herself on the table against the full-body tremors the mixture gave her and trying not to spontaneously discharge the last of her mana in instinctive panic, she could only shoot him a glassy-eyed, sullen look that she hoped was at least a little spiteful.

He shrugged, poured, and drank his portion of the poison. An expulsion of purple colored magic lashed the immediate area as Fear registered its displeasure. Teren managed to direct the outburst into the ocean for the most part. “Ahh… I’ll pay for this later.” 

Ilena reeled back from him and pulled, well,  _ tried _ to pull a barrier around herself, but the spell only flickered on her hands and faded with a sigh.

“You deranged bastard!” She wheezed and gasped, and continued with a slight tremble in her voice, “What--  _ Why _ did you do that?!”

“ _ I  _ didn’t do anything.” Terenti leaned heavily on the deck’s railing. “Magebane isn’t against our pact, but Fear doesn’t like losing its access to the mortal world like that. So it got fussy.” 

“I know what the demon’s power feels like!” Ilena growled and stumbled a couple more steps back, “I meant the Magebane!”

He blinked, gaze somewhat unsteady. “You said we were taking it and then,” he supplied the rest with a suitably crude gesture. 

“Just how often do you do this?” She regarded him with sarcasm and outrage in equal measure, “How long until it fries  _ my _ mind?”

“No faster than quaffing lyrium all the time. Now, shall we--” Teren walked towards her seductively. The effect was ruined when his legs gave out and he sprawled on his face. 

Ghilenan’s features twisted into something half offended when she noted the shrinking distance between them, and she drew a loud breath to make some sort of biting retort. It proved itself unnecessary, however, and she had to bite her lips to hide a  _ very _ satisfied smirk. “‘Shall we’ what, Magister?” The elf spoke despite herself, and with more amusement than she wanted to let on.

He wriggled, flopped over and grinned up at her. “Whatever you desire, Inquisitor.” 

“Hmm… Actually, I'm content.” Ilena walked along the railing and stopped at his side, worrying the bottom lip between her teeth. “I only wish that this,” she gestured at the Magister, “was my doing, not your own.”

“That could be rectified.” 

“Well, you'd have to rise, then,” She tilted her head to the side and pressed the sole of her foot down on Terenti’s chest before he could try, just hard enough to get the message across. “And I do prefer you down there.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vasili deserves everything that happens to him.
> 
> Blame TK.

Cold wind whipped against Ilena's face as she clung to chestnut, his hooves beating over the dirt and snow like a battle drum. However, there was no sound of conflict behind the hills west of Wycome, where she spotted trails of smoke swaying lazily against the blood red sky. “We must hurry!” the Inquisitor had gasped and spurred her horse into full gallop with little care as to whether anyone followed suite. She held the bladed staff steady, knuckles white from the vice grip she had on the handle, already drawing magic through the Veil, tattered as it was from the suffering these fields had seen.

The animal halted abruptly when they reached the top of the hill and stomped in a tight circle before Ilena pulled on the reins, eyes frozen on the meadow below. Broken bodies and aravels littered the ground scarred with blood and fire and splintered roots, and it was all she could do to steady her knees when she dismounted. Chestnut whickered nervously and retreated the moment his reins felt loose.

Ghilenan started down the hill, vision blurred and breath faltering from the tightness in her chest.

Terenti said nothing as he looked down at the slaughtered elves. It wasn’t the blood and death that bothered him - not when they’d been responsible for a massacre or two themselves. It was the Inquisitor and what she’d do now. Surely Ilena had known this would be what they saw. Or maybe not. Their liaison was fueled by something on her part - was it anger, despair, or desperate denial? 

Vasili showed no such restraint. “This is some premium devastation. I couldn’t have done it better myself,” he commented. 

She stepped between distressed corpses, charred and hacked to pieces, human and elf alike; What the cold had saved from rot, the scavenging beasts had torn into something barely recognizable.

“I’ll do to you tenfold what was done to them,” Ilena forced the words through gritted teeth, every ounce of self control focused on not lashing out aimlessly, and sent a blast of force magic across the field to scatter the crows and vultures feasting on the flesh of  _ her people _ .

Vasili threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, pardon me, Your Worship. I thought we were all adults here. If you need a binky, I'm sure you can suck my brother's cock until we get you one.”

The elf whirled around with a feral growl, face twisted into something every bit as savage, and she was on him in a flash, landing a couple of punches before they hit the blood-soaked ground. It was then that roots burst from the dirt to wrap around him, overlapping each other in the uncontrolled, graceless burst of magic that had summoned them.

Vasili’s eyes closed under the onslaught, but before Ilena was done venting her rage, they snapped open… Only they were pure black staring up from the gnarled roots. “ **Child, if you damage my vessel any further I will take control.** ”

“George, for an ancient spirit of Wisdom you don’t seem to have noticed she’d take Vas going full abomination as a fun bonus, right now,” Terenti said, stepping quickly between his unconscious twin and Ilena. “Ignore him. He’s been jealous for weeks. Let’s go slaughter the Duke’s people instead.” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Ilena snapped at him, eyes still locked on Vasili, though she could barely see through the tears. “You will  _ wish _ for Imshael’s fate.” She all but sobbed and the roots twisted tighter around his limp body.

“I’m sorry, Your Worship,” one of the men approached with hasty steps, but with blood ringing in her ears, she was deaf to his words and the rattle of his armor when he downed a flask of lyrium. “This ends now.” he simply declared, and the Veil was suddenly unbearably heavy and unyielding. The former Templar gestured the others to step in, and held his stance until they did.

A Templar? Leliana, of course. She thought of everything, and wouldn’t have had illusions about what had happened up here. Well, her planning paid off as usual. Terenti let the soldiers deal with the roots constricting Vasili, crossing to Ilena. Half to block her from throttling Vasili anyway, and half to point down to the scene of the carnage. “Inquisitor. That’s your clan, your family, down there. Who’s going to give them your people’s last rites and proper burial, us  _ shems _ ? Only you can do that."  _ As if I’d get my hands dirty _ , he thought, but was for once smart enough not to say.

_ My family _ , Ilena almost whimpered, her anger quickly making way for the grief she hadn’t registered yet, and she shook her head.

Terenti scanned the faces of everyone around them. All of the Inquisition’s forces seemed frozen with sympathetic grief. Really, it was a miracle they’d made it this far if this was how they handled crises. With a loud sigh, Terenti grabbed Ilena by the waist and started walking her into the devastation. “Come on, have to start somewhere.”

Each step was harder than the last, and every face she recognized - more harrowing than the one before. If at some point she had the strength to steel her heart, it was gone now. It started as  _ I can’t _ , mouthed as her eyes searched between burning aravels and corpses clad in castle forged armor and those in ironbark.

“I can’t,” She whispered then and pushed herself away from Terenti. “I did this. It’s my fault,” the elf stumbled backwards, choking on despair and guilt and  _ anger _ that had sparked anew. “Just fucking  _ say it _ .”

“What, ‘we told you so, you stupid knife-ear?’” Terenti did a perfect sneering imitation of Vasili’s voice… or was it his own voice in a sneer. He shook his head and looked away from her.

“No. I had a mother, once. Then she was murdered, because our idiot father was too weak to play politics. Or maybe he did it himself. It doesn’t matter who or why. She’s gone.”  

In her bitterness, Ilena really wanted to make a snide remark or two, irritated at how he managed to make  _ that _ difficult, too. She favored sullen silence over opening her mouth and almost certainly wailing instead, and her lip quivered from the effort.

“That’s right. We’ll do your quaint elf rituals and then burn the city to the ground. I’ll even revive the duke so you can kill him again a few times.”

Ghilenan choked back a sob,  _ barely _ , and shook her head. Were she a better woman, she wouldn't have considered it at all, or she would have at least felt sickened by her own cruelty; Were she a better woman, she wouldn't have suggested something worse as she cradled her father's lifeless body in her lap.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad people doing bad things and being rewarded.
> 
> Good thing we like them.

It was rather like being called to the First Enchanter’s office to be lectured after one of their pranks in the Circle, Terenti reflected, not at all listening to Josephine as she droned on about what the ‘regrettable incident at Wycome’ had done to ‘damage the Inquisition’s diplomatic standing.’ 

“We sent a message. Fuck with the Inquisitor and you get what’s coming to you,” he interrupted, stifling a yawn. “This is good. They’ll think twice about crossing us now.” 

“There are some frankly shocking reports about your desecration of the duke’s body. I assume they’re exaggerating--” 

“Desecration?” Vasili asked in his best mock-outrage. “Have you even  _ been _ to Nevarra, Ambassador? My brother’s spells made him execute the sanza delle dieci sciarpe perfectly. And really, you should just blame it all on us if you’re so worried about your silly little reputation. As if we care what the Sou-” Vasili’s neck cracked loudly. “Okay,  _ George _ cares, but I don’t imagine we have any say in what you do.”

“The  _ Inquisitor  _ was all for it,” Terenti said, shrugging and looking at Ilena. Surely she’d chase the Ambassador away now. This boring lecture had gone on for long enough. 

She listened with an infuriating lack of concern, chin propped on the heel of her hand and blinking lazily until Terenti addressed her directly, which earned only a side glance.

“You can't think me a  _ complete _ moron, Lady Montilyet,” the elf leaned back in her chair and tucked her arms under the too thin cloak. “If you read the same report as I did, you know that the city was under Venatori influence, and half the people had red Lyrium sickness; Antoine made sure of that before puking his guts out.”

“As far as the Marchers are concerned,” she continued when the Ambassador made an offended sound, “we merely razed a Venatori base, supported by none other than the dancing Duke himself, and handed it to his Royal Highness, Prince Sebastian. I hear he's good to his charges.”

“Very well,” Josephine sighed. “That’s our answer. I must go write… many, many letters about  this.” She bustled out, sparing glares for the two Tevinters. 

“Look at that. She thinks we’re a bad influence on you, Inquisitor,” Terenti commented, leaning back in his chair.

“We just enable you to be your true self,” Vasili said. “Though George is not letting me be my true self and demands thanks.”

“George got to keep his vessel. I believe I thanked him in advance.” - Ilena shot him an almost bitter look.

“He would’ve kept the body anyway, but as interesting a conversationalist as he is, I for one prefer Vas’ mind relatively intact,” Terenti said.

“Thank you for the ringing endorsement, Brother.”

“We all know George is stronger. There's no shame in it.”

_ There is in willingly giving him the reins, _ she wanted to say, but knew better than to involve herself in quarrels between kin, and she only rolled her eyes when the envious voice in her head reminded she had none. That was all it took for her to start paging through the faces of men and women and children, devoid of life and frozen in terror--

Ilena cleared her throat and stood abruptly. “I hate to interrupt this… heart-to-heart exchange, but I believe we've spent enough time in this stuffy room.”

 

“Good idea,” Terenti said, stifling a yawn. “Doubtless Leliana and Cullen will ambush you with urgent business if you stay in one place too long. I suggest we hole up in the tavern and drink ourselves senseless.”

“Thirsty for more Dragon’s Piss?” She smirked despite herself and padded towards the studded door.

“You’re buying. Wait, do they even make the Inquisitor pay for drinks? I hope not.” Terenti paused at the doorway to see if Vasili was coming. 

Vasili snorted. “No. I’m not drinking that sewer water. I’ve got a hook-up elsewhere.”

“Suit yourself. And don’t wait up for me,” he added in a stage whisper, giving his brother an enormous wink as he followed Ilena out. 

Ilena gave his arm an audible swat with the back of her hand before stepping into the main hall, where she clasped it with the other and mumbled over the shoulder, “You’re impossible.”

“I try,” Terenti said. He smoothed out invisible wrinkles on his robes as they walked - all the better to ignore everyone around them.

Clearly, the guests of the Inquisition had been busy gossiping, and judging by how most spared only a wary smile-and-nod as opposed to their usual, exaggerated greetings and barely masked nosiness, it was either about the… incident, in the Marches, or the evil Magister. Or both.

_ Good. _

“Do keep it up, Magister Sokolov,” she added, just a touch louder than necessary.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You do  _ ever so _ like it… difficult.”

“Bold of you to believe yourself an expert on what I like.”

“You have to  _ really _ like it to put up with me,” Terenti said, gesturing to himself grandly.

Ilena couldn’t help the amused hum, and yielded with a subtle shrug and mumble as they descended the stairs, “Fair point.”

Terenti laughed. He shoved her the last few steps into the tavern. Just to remind her with whom she was going to be drinking.

Her stomach fluttered for a beat, from shock, of course, not… whatever else, and she shot him a challenging glare to make that clear. To him.

“You’d better pace yourself better this time,” he challenged as they found a table. “Last time we drank you were climbing all over me. How they’d talk if it happened here.” 

“We’re not drinking Magebane this time, if that’s what you’re referring to,” the elf leaned forward and lowered her voice in mock subtlety. “Don’t worry, you’re safe.”

“Not going to make a habit of poisoning yourself intentionally? Might be for the best.” Teren was pleased to notice that the serving girl set the drinks down and left without asking for so much as a coin. He could get used to the trappings of Ilena’s position, even if she didn’t exploit them nearly as much as he’d like. 

“With you around,” she defiantly downed her drink and continued with a mildly strained voice, “I believe I’m at capacity for poison and such things.”

“You like it. Getting to boss an evil  _ shem  _ bogeyman around is what’s doing it for you,” he said with a sage nod. And then a leer. 

“‘Shem’, my ass.” Ilena rolled her eyes and leaned back in the squeaky chair, one leg thrown over the other.

“What? I’m a Tevinter blood mage. The direct descendent of the people that destroyed your ancestral home, stole your immortality, scattered the Dalish across Thedas,” Teren said with an incongruous note of pride in his voice. “Shit, you knife-ears probably blame us when it rains.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed and sat back up, “What was it you said?” Ghilenan put on a face then, and cleared her throat to best mock his voice. “ _ ‘I haven’t lied to you once and I’d appreciate it if you did the same.’  _ “

“Your head must either be stuck  _ impossibly far _ up your ass, or you’re the biggest hypocrite with whom I’ve ever had the misfortune to…“ She concluded with vague hand gestures and several sarcastic faces.

“Excuse you, Knife-ear. Not liking a word doesn’t make it less valid.”

“Touchy. Did I ruffle your feathers, Magister?” The elf continued after the serving girl hastily refilled her mug, “Is that why you suspect your father may have killed your mother himself? For being elf-blooded?”

“My  _ mother _ ,” Terenti hissed, expression twisted into an ugly, genuine anger she’d never seen there before, “was a great magister from an ancient family of the purest quality. Don’t presume to slander her for some  _ joke _ .”

“Joke?” Ilena laughed. “ _ You’re _ a joke, Terenti Sokolov,” she swiped a hand in the air, sparks of magic dancing between her fingers and running over him head to toe to cancel out whatever spell he had cast on himself. And then it was gone, and she was on him, brows drawn together and fingers clamped on the tip of his ear. “What did you think? That I wouldn’t notice? That you could keep playing your little game of pretend?”

The place her fingers plucked was slightly above his ear, but he could feel it all the same, a sharp twinge. He batted at her with a hand, then stopped and stared at the hand. The fingers seemed longer than he remembered, the wrist thinner. 

“How dare you. Take this illusion spell off at once. Making me look like some  _ elf-blooded  _ mongrel isn’t funny!” he commanded. 

“Mongrel?!” - Ghilenan snapped and grabbed a fistful of his robes. The patrons hurried out one by one, stumbling from the drink and from looking back over their shoulders, while those remaining murmured awkwardly between each other. The sudden silence was enough to cool her temper, and she drew back, though with no small amount of hesitation.

Terenti cast a furious anti-magic ward over himself, but his arm remained stubbornly lean. Just a little  _ too _ lean for a full-blooded human. With mounting panic, he saw the ornate Sokolov signet ring on his hand flare with a brief, intense light. Uncalled for magic moved slowly, rolling up his arm and restoring it to normal. But his heart sunk. He could feel exactly what  _ that  _ spell was, and knew who had cast it.

“My father. Useless at almost everything, but a decent illusionist. He must have been a half-elf. He hid it all his life and kept hiding it beyond the grave,” he said dully, not looking at Ilena. “ _ Fuck _ !” 

“Yes, blame everything on father dearest,” Ilena muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, and dragged her chair back into place with her foot before slumping onto it.

“Well it had to be him. My grandparents struggled for years to conceive. Then, all of a sudden, my father was miraculously born. So he must have… been with… a slave girl, and passed it off as Grandmother’s,” Terenti said, with a look of mounting horror. 

_ Could have been the other way around _ , she almost blurted out, and justified her insensitive reaction with him asking for it with all the rude, disgusting remarks he was spitting moments ago.  _ Funny _ . Ilena pushed Terenti’s mug towards him with a single finger and a smug smile she couldn’t contain.

“What are you smirking about?” A flailing hand knocked the mug askew. 

“I was just thinking that it could have been your  _ grandmother _ that took an elf as a lover,” She leaned on her elbows and steadied the cup.

“Oh, no. Everyone knew Father was a bastard when he came out so pale. She’s full-blooded Tevene. Imagine the scandal when she married the mage from the Anderfels, no matter how strong he was,” Terenti explained, briefly distracted from his existential crisis by the possibility of old gossip. “I just thought he was a  _ human  _ bastard.” 

Her shit-eating smirk melted away when the attempt at vexing him further failed, and she made an almost perfect imitation of Cassandra’s disgusted huff. “How  _ tragic _ that he was less than human.”

“Quite. I can’t believe this. We’ll be laughed out of the Magisterium,” Terenti fretted. “It was bad enough being of foreign stock. Now  _ elf blood _ ,” he added with considerable revulsion. 

“Well, I’m happy to have been of help,” Ilena hissed and dispelled the illusion as she stood up to leave him wallowing in self-pity.

“Don’t be like that. You’ve been stuck being an elf your whole life.  _ I  _ just found out, I need a minute,” Terenti protested, with no apparent realization of how she might take that.

She halted to glare down at him, and started with an unnervingly sudden change of tone. “You’re right. I should instead cradle you to my chest and stroke your hair until you stop snivelling. Poor thing.”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Mm… no. I’m not sure you’re accustomed to such gentle affection. See, coddling is what  _ mothers _ do, and yours probably wanted to drown you the moment she found out,” the elf stepped back towards the door, eyes narrowed and voice dripping with venom. “Me?  _ I _ can bleed you dry instead, make sure none of that  _ disgusting _ , elven blood remains in your veins. Do let me know what works best for you,” she hissed and slammed the door behind her without waiting for his response.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vasili was not, in fact, taking it well.

Terenti was hurled out of the unused wing of Skyhold by an invisible force. He landed heavily, brushed himself off, and stood unsteadily. If that ruined section had been ruined before, it would soon be even more ruined. The building shook from the force of the magic being unleashed within.

“So... Vasili’s taking it well,” he announced. 

“Do you often talk to yourself, or were you expecting an audience?” Ilena leaned against a column with her shoulder to brace for the  _ actual _ tremors that would almost certainly follow.

“I usually have an audience. I’m fascinating.” Terenti turned to look at her, not quite meeting her eye. The illusion magic was firmly in place.

“Not the word I’d use,” She stalked towards the entrance to assess the damage being done to the… rubble. “But if it stops you from brooding…”

“Me? I’ve adjusted to this unpleasant reality with maturity and grace. As for Vas… at least he’s throwing his tantrum in the unused part,” the magister said, looking over at the shaking stones along with her. 

“You don’t set the bar very high, do you?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking it over. There’s a reason we normally slaughter elves for our blood magic rituals up in Tevinter,” Terenti said carelessly. “Their blood still has some of that connection to the ancient magic. So really, when you think about it, being part-elf means I’m more powerful than a  _ normal  _ human. That explains a lot.” 

“Watch your tongue, Tevinter,” the elf snarled, barely keeping her temper from flaring.  _ Quite literally _ , she noted when the air warmed and almost distorted her sight.

He lifted his hands. “Look, all my life we were taught that elves were innately inferior to humans. Animals. Slaves. Less than human. Obviously that can’t be true because  _ I’m _ elf-blooded and I’m incredible.  _ You’re  _ a full elf and stronger than most magisters. So maybe I’ve been a bit… misguided in my assumptions.” 

“Listen here, you ignorant, tactless ass,” she held up a finger in front of his face and shook off the fire it instantly caught before continuing to hiss up at him, “if you think that justifies anything you’ve said, I’ll make good on my offer and paint these dusty halls with  _ your _ blood.”

“Justifies, no, it’s just… That’s how it  _ is _ , there. You weren’t wrong about our mother. If she didn’t die, it means she walked out on us. Just for being part-elf. Vas always insisted he saw her leave,” Terenti added as the ruined wing shook with a particularly violent burst of magic. “I didn’t want to believe it. Now? I think she found out. I think she abandoned us the second she knew what we were.”   

“So? At least you had your father,” Ilena grumbled and shifted her weight from one foot to another. “And don’t try to change the subject!” She tried stubbornly to keep her voice steady and just resentful enough, and lightly shoved his shoulder for good measure.

“The father we blamed and resented for her disappearance and/or death because he never told us about the elf-blood. Yeah, we all had a great time,” Terenti said sarcastically. “Do I detect some projection from you? I thought your father was at Wycome.” 

“I’m not projecting anything,” she laughed, briefly focusing her eyes on the stone tiles before looking back at him. “My father would never willingly leave me. Not the father I knew, anyway.”

“You’re talking like there’s one you didn’t.” 

“Depends on how broad your definition of ‘father’ is,” the elf shrugged and pulled up a barrier in the archway to block flying debris. “I wasn’t born to the clan,” she sighed, “they found me stranded in the forest. Not that it ever mattered.”

“Right. But part of you wanted to know who they were and why they left you, no matter how much it didn’t matter. I get it,” Terenti nodded.  

Ilena dropped the barrier with an irritated huff when things calmed on the other side of it. “And while we’re bonding over the unfortunate subject of parents, your brother is probably turning into an abomination.”

“What’s talking going to do?  _ You  _ certainly won’t calm him down and my attempt didn’t go so well.” Terenti stroked his chin. “We should find him someone to bed. That always cheers him up.” 

“‘We?’” She snorted, more amused than anything, really. “Great idea! Let’s tell the angry, possessed mage whom he can fuck.  _ You  _ can risk getting your pretty face rearranged if you want; I like mine the way it is.”

“You think I’m pretty? Aww.” 

“For a shem,” Ilena shrugged and eyed him mischievously, “take off your ring and then we’ll talk.”

“You like me looking like  _ that _ … better?” Terenti asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look genuinely shocked,” she rolled her eyes and waved a hand in the air. “Just-- forget I said that. And all of… whatever else I said today.”

“ _ Or _ we could leave my brother to his tantrum, go up to your bedroom and pursue that line of thought further.”

“What?  _ Seriously _ ?” She flushed, completely outraged. Livid, even. Yes. Livid. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d even entertain that idea after the sort of crap-- Ugh.”

“That groan of frustration tells me you’re going to agree, but complain the entire time. I am fully onboard for that.”

“Keep it up,” Ghilenan crossed her arms, “won’t be long until I strangle that smugness out of you.”

“I’ll advise you not to try that in public.” Terenti raised an eyebrow at her. “Remember what happened last time?”

“I do, and I better not end up smelling like burnt silk and feathers this time.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Look,” Terenti said, slipping the signet ring back on his finger, “you know my ears aren’t  _ actually  _ any more sensitive than before, right? It’s an exclusively visual illusion.” 

“ _ You _ bit  _ me _ first. That was revenge,” the elf hummed and stretched, entirely too pleased with herself. “The first bite, at least,” she added after a pause.

“Uh-huh. You were chewing on them the entire time! I have an actual sexual organ that would have better appreciated that attention.” 

“If by that you mean the couple of times I nipped them, sure,” Ilena rolled to her side to face him, and, very theatrically, gestured in the general direction of the door, “You can always go and fuck yourself if you don't like the way I do it.”

“Nah. I’m staying.” Terenti gave an exaggerated stretch. “Only because this is the best bed in Skyhold.” 

“Aww,” she pouted, “you're upset with me. Was it really the biting or did you somehow understand what I said in Elven?”

“I didn't suddenly learn to speak it just because I'm…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes. “Why, what  _ were  _ you saying?”

“I’m not going to tell you  _ now _ ,” Ilena propped her chin on her hand, lips pinched between her teeth to stop herself from grinning.

Terenti glowered at her. “I insist.” 

“Ooh, how terribly frightening,” she couldn't hold back the smirk or the low chuckle then. “I  _ might _ repeat it if you insist harder.”

He growled and pushed her down, climbing over her. “I’ll show you--” 

The door slammed open without so much as a knock. The Inquisition messenger yelped at the sight and hid his face. “I, uh…” 

Her heart leapt into her throat, and wedged itself there when the man’s squeal startled her.

_ Fuck. _

With an irritated huff, Ilena shoved him off and onto his back, and whispered a soft “ _ later _ ” against the skin at the base of his ear before nipping at the lobe. She covered up with her discarded tunic and turned towards the messenger that had already begun sneaking down the steps.

“You have 5 seconds before I send you through the Veil. Spit it out,” the elf demanded, and he froze.

“Er, well, urgent news from the dwarves, Your Worship. They said it couldn’t wait for anything, so I… I didn’t know you were... “ He practically threw the letter at her in his eagerness to escape. 

“Next time, knock, or I’ll… I’ll… do something scary and blood magic-y,” Terenti complained at his retreating back. 

Ilena slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the hem down in place as she padded towards the letter that fell an unfortunate distance from where it was thrown.  _ Broken seal _ , she noted when she unfolded the parchment and tried to make something of the hurried hand the message was written in, shifting slightly side to side as she read. “How do you like the Deep Roads?” The elf looked up after a moment or two.

“Never been down there, but I can confidently state I’ll hate it. Let’s send some of Cullen’s men and stay here instead,” he replied, not making any move to get up or dressed. 

“I’m afraid Cullen’s seasoned warriors can’t stop earthquakes  _ and _ a horde of darkspawn quite like I supposedly can,” she stuffed the letter back into its envelope and tossed it onto the sofa.

Terenti blinked. “Wait, earthquakes? What did Vas do now?” 

“He’s still at the keep, judging from the tremors, and the Lyrium mines are under the Storm Coast,” Ilena sat on the edge of the too-soft bed to turn her breeches the right side out, “I almost don’t want to know why you think he could’ve caused them to collapse all the way over there.”

“Haven’t I mentioned that George is so ancient that he was around for the fall of Arlathan? If he took over it would be  _ very  _ bad. Anyway,” Terenti added in a wheedling tone, “Do we have to leave  _ right now _ ? Surely they can wait a couple hours.” 

She turned halfway to look at him, leaning on her arm for support. “So you’re saying that there could be, at this very moment, a very old, very powerful abomination wreaking havoc in my keep  _ and  _ destabilizing the ancient Dwarven tunnels simultaneously.”

“I don’t really think he’s gone abomination. But I guess I should go check on him if you want him with you on this silly adventure,” he said, sighing as he got out of bed. “Maybe coming along will distract him.”

“Try not to get killed,” Ilena spoke over her shoulder as she pulled the leathers on and started towards the stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Broodmothers & their creation mention. Body horror. Not explicit, but we understand people are sensitive to these things.

The descent into the lyrium mines at the Storm Coast went very much as expected; Earthquakes that shook the ground miles from the chasm, crumbling cliffs and rolling boulders, pouring rain and slippery rocks, and the endless complaints about all of that. Scout Harding’s words did little to reassure anyone, and the mass funeral at the bottom of the flimsy, swaying lift only disheartened most. The first ogre, an alpha, judging from the size of it, had somehow made it past the Legion and through the entrance, and tore a man in half before anyone drew their weapons. It gored another before its head rolled off the edge when Vasili beheaded it in one violent strike, aggravated as he was.

Shaper Valta rushed them into the ruins, and the darkspawn horde that had overrun the Legion of the Dead was dealt with as quickly as they had appeared. A couple of well-placed lyrium bombs, and their way into the upper levels filled with dirt and rubble, temporarily making the hall a safe place to camp and discuss just what the Inquisition was to deal with. Although there was no evidence that the quakes weren’t just that (aside from a few rambling dwarves), the lyrium mines had been overrun by the blighters, and on a note of  _ might-as-well _ and  _ we’re-already-here _ , the Inquisitor’s party joined the Legion in the next sweep on the lower levels.

The scratching in the walls and the stench got worse the deeper they ventured through the abandoned passages, but aside from how the darkspawn seemed somewhat stronger and fiercer down here, it was no different from fighting them on the surface.

“Yep. I hate it. There’s darkspawn  _ everywhere _ , I’m getting claustrophobic, and worst of all, I’ll never get the stink out of these robes,” Terenti complained at the first available pause in the continual fighting. 

The Inquisitor wrenched the blade of her staff out of a fallen genlok and flicked the blood off it with an audible splat across the stone floor. “This is so sad. Valta, play Despacito,” she gave a tired grin and swept stray hairs back from her face, “You hate it here and the violence does seem to be distracting your brother. That's two points for you.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve yet to see anything Cullen’s lot couldn’t have dealt with. Or your pet Wardens. This is literally their job. You could even have put ‘Blackwall’ in charge of them for a laugh,” Terenti said, making air quotes directly in the man’s face. To his disappointment, Rainier just ignored the taunt. 

“Well, the dwarves have clearly asserted their dominance over the Inquisition. Can I leave now?” Vasili asked, shaking the black darkspawn blood off his sword.

“This is part of no political game, Inquisitor. The situation was bad when we sent for aid, and though we’re grateful for your prompt response,” Valta briefly glared at the twins when she paused to look for words, and sighed. “These earthquakes are more than just a natural disaster; There is an intelligence behind them, and we need to find the source. Had there been another option, we would not have troubled the Inquisition.”

“You told me this already, along with your theory on subterranean giants,” Ilena rubbed her forehead. “I don’t care what’s causing them,  _ but since we are already here _ ,” she raised her voice, “we will help you clear the path until reinforcements arrive for your Legion.”

“I like it when she gets all ‘commanding Inquisitor,’” Terenti stage whispered, ostensibly to Vasili but more or less to the entire party. 

“Better than Hyal, though?” Vasili asked. “Or is she just willing to get naked?”

“‘Extremely powerful magister’s good, but ‘commands all of Southern Thedas’ is better. Even if they  _ are  _ all barbarians.” 

“Yeah, but Hyal is…” Vasili made a crude hand gesture.

“Maybe she’ll go for you now. She  _ was  _ fixated on me, understandably.” Terenti preened himself. 

“If you’re quite finished,” the elf barked then and gestured towards the dark, damp halls ahead, “we need to move.  _ Now _ .” She stalked past the two, Lieutenant Renn close behind her, and all but whispered to Vasili, “I’m happy you’re feeling better, not-Magister Sokolov.”

“As long as certain unpleasant revelations don’t become public knowledge, it should stay that way, so let’s get the fluff out of the way and go right to the blackmail. What do you want?”

“I have use for your political connections yet, not-Magister,” Ilena slowed her walk to a casual pace. “Well, not  _ yours _ . His,” she gestured at Terenti, “But that changes little for you.”

“And that’s it? You’ll just stay mum on the whole thing?” Vasili stroked his goatee. “I don’t believe that.”

“Now you’re just giving me ideas,” she put on a thoughtful face, “I  _ could _ squeeze more out of you, couldn’t I?”

“I prefer to be on the level before we get too far across the bridge, as it were,” Vasili said, glancing down at her.

“Destroying your family’s reputation, though it would be quite spectacular, will gain me nothing,” Ilena lowered her voice just slightly and willed the torches in the next chamber alight as she stepped under the arch, “so let’s just say it’s in  _ my _ interests to not ruin you and your brother, and leave it at that.”

Vasili sighed dramatically. “Look, if I have to explicitly tell you my brother’s weaknesses without you demanding it, then I become the villain. However, if I’m blackmailed, well, then I had no choice. Do try to keep up.”

“He’s not that hard to figure out, but I appreciate the offer.”

Vasili made a disgusted noise worthy of Cassandra and then stalked off to bother someone else.

“What’d he want?” Terenti sidled up, because a minute without being bothered by a Vint was too much to ask, apparently. 

“Elf advice,” Ilena whispered after a pause, strangely amused even for her own taste, “he’s new at this whole… elf thing.”

“Huh. I figured he’d be more of the pretend he’s human for the rest of his life type.” 

“Mm, can’t say,” she hummed, “especially since I was only kidding. He just tried to encourage me to do better at politics. Blackmail and all.”

Terenti nodded. “That’s true. You could stand to be a bit more ruthless and power hungry. Get some of those Orlesians you saved to lick your boots and such.” 

“Thank you for the unbidden advice. I’ll be sure to mention that to the Empress next time,” her mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown. “Or perhaps the Grand Duke. I hear he has a big tongue.”

“The bald old man? Seems like a missed opportunity. Surely the Empress herself, or that Grand Marquis of the Dales, would be better company.” 

“Too dull, that Marquis, and judging from the gossip and what I found in her room, Celene would rather have  _ her _ boots licked,” Ilena lowered her voice when Renn’s men rushed past them to install the massive gears they'd found scattered through the halls.

“Oh?  _ Do  _ tell,” Terenti said with undisguised eagerness for gossip. 

The door rattled and opened with a loud creak, followed by shrieking and growling, and the group of disturbed darkspawn sped towards the intruders. She turned on her heel to face him and grinned as she walked backwards, “I'll  _ show _ you later if you're good.”

“I’ll expect a fancy mask and Orlesian accent,” he smirked, then tossed a lazy fireball at the massed darkspawn. 

Ilena cast a barrier over the party before charging ahead, right behind her own trail of fiery destruction and straight towards the pair of ogres that roared something fierce from the far end of the chamber.

“There she goes again,” Blackwall sighed as he unsheathed his sword and pommelled a hurlok and cut down another in the same move.

“I take it this happens often,” Renn nudged him towards the Inquisitor and covered his back so they could safely reach her.

“Often enough.”

Though the swarm of darkspawn vastly outnumbered the joint force of the Legion and the Inquisition, those that remained standing tipped the odds in their favor. The battle was turning into an easy victory, especially after the ogres, burnt and bloodied, began stumbling clumsily and getting in the way of their own rather than doing any real damage.

That was, until an Emissary emerged from the dark hole in the wall just behind them with a fresh batch of blighters. Almost immediately, it pulled on the Fade with brutish force for one wielding magic, and simultaneously knocked down those closest to it and dispelled any magic it sensed nearby. Renn ran towards the Inquisitor, but she pushed herself up without losing a beat and looked around to reassess the situation. The Legionnaires that had aided her in crippling the ogres followed suite soon enough, and moved to finish them off at Renn’s command, and the new darkspawn thankfully took towards the thick of the battle instead of joining the Emissary in its attack on them.

With every last bit of her mana drained, Ilena lunged towards the offensively elf-looking monster once the Lieutenant managed to limit its movement, but after taking several heavy blows from her bladed staff and Renn’s axe, the Emissary hurled the dwarf across the stony floor, and glided towards him with an eerie, displeased hiss. She grumbled and moved to pursue it, but a loud gasp broke from her mouth when an arrow pierced her just above the knee and sent her stumbling to the ground instead. It was then that a pair of shrieks pounced from the shadows, and, with several sharp tugs on the ankle of her injured leg, dragged her towards the jagged opening their kind had poured out of just moments ago.

The elf swiftly turned over and swung her staff at them, hoping-- no,  _ praying _ for the first time in weeks, that her magic would return, but none of her spells took form. The beasts only glanced over their deformed shoulders, and made a sound vaguely resembling a laugh.

“Fuck off, you spineless _ freaks! _ ” She yowled in horror and anger as she tried to stab their clawed hands that now bit into both her ankles, and whatever else she was going to yell, came out in a cry cut short as one of them yanked her forward and her head slammed onto the dull edge of a step carved in stone.

Terenti saw Ilena fall and saw the shrieks seize her. He lashed out with blood magic, trying to take control of their bodies and force them to let go of her, but the strange darkspawn blood, heavy with its  _ wrongness _ , eluded his grasp. He couldn’t figure out its properties on the fly like this - not in time to save her.

The absolute certainty that she’d be gone, beyond their reach, in a few more seconds washed through him.  _ Just imagine what the darkspawn do to their prisoners. Imagine how she’ll suffer _ , Fear laughed.  _ You want the power to save her? All you need to do is _ \--

“Vas!” Terenti shouted, unable to conceal the panic in his voice. “Save her!” Nothing but a demon’s power would retrieve her in time, and there was only one alternative to making a fatal deal. 

Ilena let out a miserable groan when the intense ringing in her head muffled all other sound and made everything spin, and she blinked slowly as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Something in her stirred and struggled, and  _ raged _ when her body didn’t respond beyond lightly tightening grip on the staff that dragged across the floor with her.

Vasili heard the true terror in his brother’s voice and didn’t comment. He dashed across the torn flooring with superhuman speed, his marks glowing brightly in the Deep Roads. His sword tore through the shrieks, but he felt his power waning. He didn’t dare recharge the marks with darkspawn blood and most of the dwarves that fell reeked of Taint. 

Once he freed the stupid Inquisitor, Vasili made a rude gesture at his brother before passing out cold on the spot.

“He dead?” one of the dwarves rumbled.

“No. Just dramatic,” Terenti answered without looking. He bent over Ilena - also alive, thanks to George’s power - and put his arms around her.

“You stupid little… ‘I know, I’ll use up all my mana and start flailing around like some barbarian,’” he snarled at the elf. “Get yourself killed at this rate.” 

“Talk… too much…” Ilena slurred, though she could barely hear a thing, and looked around with unfocused eyes before closing them again.

“We need to get out of here,” Valta sheathed her sword as she hurried towards the massive door that sounded like it had been locked for centuries when she turned the handle, and the clanking of ancient gears joined distant growling and screeching, echoing in the dark tunnels the darkspawn had dug into the walls.

“Get the injured and bring them here!” Renn shouted at some of his men and directed the others to check the chamber Valta had opened.

A couple of the dwarves managed Vasili between them, but Terenti waved them away from Ilena. Grunting with the effort, he picked her up himself and trudged after Valta. “Have to do everything myself…” 

Her eyes shot open, wide and spooked and very alert. Not from the sudden sting and ache in her leg that she felt throbbing all the way up to the tips of er ears, no; It was panic that sent her heart into a frenzy and made her hook her fingers in his robes in an instant. “Put me down,” she hissed through the teeth, though she made no move to let go.

“That leg won’t hold up. Would you rather crawl than ask for help?” Terenti paused to consider it. “Never mind, of course you would, but you don’t get to be stupidly stubborn today. I need you alive.” 

“That was not a suggestion, Magister Sokolov,” the elf was glaring now, far too red for someone that had lost as much blood as she did. “I will not be carried like some… some porcelain doll you nobles are used to. Now  _ put me down _ .”

“Only once these blighted dwarves say it’s safe.” 

Someone behind them grumbled the same time as she did, though for a different reason, and she squirmed to look over his shoulder as the door slammed shut. “There. It’s safe now.”

Terenti deposited her on the stone floor, perhaps not as gently as he could have. “There. Happy now?” 

“Very!” Ilena snapped at him first, and then at the Legion’s surgeon, who threw his hands up in surrender and simply left his kit with her. She fastened a belt above the wound and stared angrily at the arrow while she waited for her magic to return, at which point she almost carefully pulled it out and closed the gash, with no small amount of muffled whining, of course.

The dwarves quickly set up camp in the abandoned hall and established guard rotation. With that out of the way and the day’s rations distributed among the party, most sat around the campfires, speaking quietly and very little.

“Guess we ought to sleep. Feels late. Even if you can’t tell the time in this damned place,” Terenti eventually complained. 

Ilena looked at him with the same sullen silence she'd been keeping for… however long; There really was no telling time down there. “Yeah,” she mumbled and dragged her feet to the far end corner of the hall, where she'd scattered her things before.

“She didn’t get angry at you today,” Cole revealed himself next to Terenti the moment she was gone, “not once. Not really.” He poked at the fire silently after that, not even glancing at the elf.

“Oh  _ no _ . I’ve heard about you. I have one demon poking around my head already and it’s more than enough,” Terenti complained. Though he couldn’t deny the damn Compassion… thing… had said something interesting. 

“Glazed eyes void of life, and… pointed ears..? They look-- no. They're not. They're not. They're not,” the boy continued as if he hadn't heard the mage, words stumbling from his mouth between tense, shallow breaths as he rocked back and forth. “I don't want to go, I won't--” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he stilled, silent for a moment or two. “She was scared, and then she wasn't,” Cole looked up and into his eyes. “The pine helped.”

“I do smell nice, don’t I? I’ll be damned if I was going to reek like those dwarves and Blackwall, since we’re all stuck down here,” the magister said, with a near-instantaneous focus on anything but the actual point. 

“You were scared, too,” he spoke after another, thoughtful pause, and looked at Ilena. She sat cross-legged on her bedroll, back leaned against a wall, staff lying on her lap. “Clawed hands tearing, pulling, dragging her into the darkness. Not her. Not now. Not  _ again _ ,” He returned his attention to the fire in front of him. “It’s okay that you care. She would like that.”

“Well, thanks for the demonic relationship advice,” Terenti grumbled. “But we’re fine as-is. No need to make it complicated.” 

“I’m sorry. It was in your head, tangled and angry. I wanted to help,” the boy stood and left as suddenly as he had appeared, and wandered towards the injured. Ilena warily looked around the camp before setting her staff aside and lying down, back turned to the wall, still.

 

____

 

A pair of shrieks pounced from the shadows, and, with several sharp tugs on the ankle of her injured leg, dragged Ilena towards the jagged opening their kind had poured out of just moments ago.

Terenti stifled a yawn. “Predictable as ever. I suppose this time they’ll get clean away and kill her. Well, let’s get it over with so I can wake up.” 

A soft chuckle sounded in his ears. “ _ That’s not what the darkspawn do to their female captives. Any of those Stone-rats could have told you. Or did you not want to know _ ?” 

“Not really, but I assume I’m about to find out...” 

He watched, in vivid and lovingly crafted detail, as the shrieks made good on their escape with Ilena in tow. An eternity of twisting tunnels later, and they’d returned to a large band of darkspawn. The Inquisitor was thrown to the ground, bloody and bruised but alive. For the moment. 

They didn’t kill her. It was a good deal more disgusting than that. 

He tried to look away, bile in his throat, but wherever he glanced, Fear made the scene appear. It stretched on and on for hours... until Ilena started to change. 

That took hours, too. All swelling and expanding and tentacles. A mindless, horrifying creature replacing the woman. 

He could have watched her  _ die  _ \- he’d watched Fear murder Vasili in countless ways, for years and years - but this was worse than anything the demon had ever put him through before. And it had been  _ so close  _ to reality… 

Or had saving her been the dream, a burst of wishful thinking to avoid  _ this _ reality?

The demon laughed again. 

A pain in his side. Terenti’s eyes flew open. One of the Legion dwarves had tripped over him and was cursing. He muttered his thanks - to the dwarf’s bemusement - and staggered across the camp towards where Ilena slept. 

He fell to his knees beside her, touched her face with trembling fingers. No, she  _ was  _ alive. This was real. The darkspawn had been the dream. He gave a strangled sort of laugh with no humor in it. 

The elf twitched at first, brows pulled together and nose scrunched in irritation. Only a heartbeat later she shot up in alarm, scrambled back with a barely restrained gasp and drew her father's knife, the swift, crescent swipe just barely missing him. She made no sound after that, wasn't even  _ breathing _ , and her eyes, still adjusting to the light, scanned him over and over again until she let out a relieved but exasperated sigh and her grip on the knife relaxed.

Terenti looked rattled, which, considering how so far nothing had even fazed him, was… troubling; Even more so when she remembered the feel of his cold fingers on her face and brought her own hand to her cheek. Something had woken him up, that much was clear from the mussed hair and the bags under his eyes. It was no secret that his pet demon’s games deterred him from sleep most nights and cut it short on the rest, and since the rest of the camp seemed undisturbed, that’s what she wrote this up to.

It didn't explain why he was here on his knees, though, and not off doing evil Magister things somewhere else. She didn't want to ask or guess, or think about how the harrowed look on his face almost made her heart sink.

_ Stupid almost-shem and his stupid puppy eyes. _

“You pathetic excuse for a blood mage,” Ilena spat when the silence dragged on longer than she was comfortable with, and hoped she sounded spiteful enough. “I've seen  _ circle mages _ in the south deal better with demons as common as Fear, and you woke me up for the first nightmare it threw at you,” she rolled her eyes for good measure as she settled back down on the bedroll, as far to the side as its width allowed.

“If you weren’t such an absolute _ idiot, _ it wouldn’t have had the ammunition,” Terenti muttered after a long pause, though he couldn’t even manage to carry the pretend-spite into his voice. “Don’t do that again.” 

“If  _ you _ weren't an arrogant fool yourself, you wouldn't have made the fucking deal with-” she snapped, angry and offended at how he assumed he had any right to tell her what to do, but the anger melted away before she could finish speaking. She should be snarling at him to go away, not thinking about  _ comforting _ him. Just snarling would do, too, but all she could manage was a huff before looking away and shifting uncomfortably.

“ _ Well _ ?” The elf grumbled a few moments later, already regretting what she was about to say, “Are you going to lie down or must I send a formal invitation?”

Wordlessly, he collapsed onto the free half of the bedroll. His arms reached to hold her, this  _ real  _ her, close. He pressed his face into her side and held it there, trembling, eyes wet despite his best efforts to relax and forget the nightmare. 

Ilena’s skin prickled, more in surprise than anything, and she lay still while he settled in. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to him being in her space, quite the contrary, as bad of an idea as the whole thing was.  _ This _ was new, a one-off thing and best not spoken of. Ever. With a resigned sigh, she shifted and reluctantly stroked the top of his stupidly soft hair while chastising herself for encouraging this… whatever it was.

“You’re lucky I have no energy to be angry right now,” she grumbled quietly, as if that would fix anything, and tucked an arm under her head.

Disconcertingly, Terenti still didn’t shoot back a counter jibe. His entire agenda seemed to begin and end with the clinging. 

“ _ Fine _ . This is fine,” Ilena mumbled on as she shifted closer to him, fingers now curled into a loose fist in his hair, and closed her eyes, “Let the crazy little knife-ear protect you.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Gotta say, this is an impressive little army you’ve got here,” Terenti said, luxuriating in his place right next to the Inquisitor in the march into the Arbor Wilds. “Have you considered skipping this elven temple bit and just invading all of Thedas with it?” 

“I’m sure you're well-aware of the issues with that idea,” Ilena couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice as she all but confirmed that yes, she had considered it once or twice. Both times she came to the conclusion that she'd certainly share Andraste’s fiery end before even laying siege to the Imperial Palace in Orlais. An entertaining thought, regardless.

“Oh yes. But we could be king and queen of Thedas for a couple glorious years and then die young. What’s not to like?” the magister said flippantly. 

“Terribly bold of you to assume I wouldn't just get rid of you to be the sole ruler,” the elf shrugged and scratched her sable mount on the neck when he spooked at the distant explosions ahead.

“And replace my  _ other  _ services with a male harem? Can’t blame you. That sounds fun.” 

“I’m glad you approve. I  _ will _ need a new goal once Corypheus is dealt with, so this might just be inevitable,” she turned slightly to look at him, and resumed after a short pause, “Pity. I was beginning to like you.”

“Not enough to come up to Tevinter, though, I imagine.” Terenti said it casually, but didn’t meet her gaze. 

“Beg your pardon?” Ilena narrowed her eyes as she tried to decide just what in the Void he meant by that, aside from him going back to the Imperium. She had kept it in the back of her mind that he eventually would, as he should, but still it sounded like a bad thing now.  _ Since when? _ Half tempted to put the spurs to her horse without waiting for a response, she looked ahead and away from him before her face betrayed her quickly souring mood.

“Well, when you finish punching Corypheus to death, that’s when the real games start back home. The Venatori won’t survive it. Their supporters will be disgraced, the Archon will move to restore his authority. Maybe Pavus’ silly little reforms will even happen.” He stroked his beard. “Either Vas or I, maybe both, will need to go back to make sure the family’s interests are secured.” 

“Fair point, but not what I asked about,” Ilena mumbled and lightly pulled on the reins to urge Bana to halt a small distance away from the camp. She dismounted without another word before he even stopped moving, and someone shouted for the rest of the caravan to slow down.

“I was saying - I didn’t think you’d want to come along,” he said, jumping from his horse. “But I’d like you to. I enjoy… you know, our whole thing.”  

There was a slight stutter in Ilena’s step that she hoped he wouldn’t notice. That, or how she picked up the pace to stay ahead of him. He always had such terrible timing and terrible ideas and-- it would be  _ ridiculous  _ for her to even  _ begin _ to consider it. Yet she did just that, and had to try to shake the thought out of her head. In complete vain.

“Can you  _ imagine _ , though? The Inquisitor running off with--” Ilena resorted to humor, but stopped herself mid sentence and inhaled deeply as she pretended to look around for someone in charge.

Lady Montilyet was somehow already there, Talking with the Empress and the Duke, both dressed incredibly pretentiously to have been planning to make themselves useful. Commander Cullen rode ahead of them, so he must have been somewhere around as well, just not anywhere near enough to, for once, give a disheartening report to a  _ willing _ listener.  _ Shit _ , she thought and sighed.

“That’s the idea. Flaunt it.  The magisters will trip over themselves to get to know the most important person from the South. I bet it’ll be the first time most of them will have even spoken to an elf that couldn’t be ordered about,” Terenti said, smirking. 

She turned around to listen, arms crossed in pretend irritation and wearing what was probably more of a stupid, dopey smile than a sly smirk of her own.

“That will--  _ would _ be a very confusing time for everyone,” the elf corrected herself with a sudden frown, and shot him a warning glare in case he thought to latch onto that.

“Then it’s settled,” he said, ignoring her warning glare with the ease of one who has a lot of experience ignoring warning glares. 

“ _ Nothing _ is settled,” she grumbled and covered his mouth with her hand, since the more civil approach proved itself useless. “And we can argue about this  _ after _ our business here is taken care of. Provided you live long enough for that.”

“Mmm,” Terenti agreed. Or disagreed. Hard to tell. 

Ilena squinted and pulled back her hand before stalking towards Josephine and the two Orlesians, who, despite their practiced pleasantries, were still quite bitter about the truce she had forced between them. The Ambassador directed her to the Lieutenant hunched over a table with a map, and he gave an encouraging report on the situation on the road towards the Temple; Leliana’s people had sent several Red Templar camps up on flames, and groups of skirmishers and the Orlesian troops had pushed the enemy back far enough to make the trek through the jungle relatively uneventful; Aside from the elves wearing Mythal’s Vallaslin on their faces, and gold armor that shone like dragon bone. Morrigan had said this could be the Temple of the goddess, and proceeded to flaunt whatever knowledge of Elven lore she had acquired through questionable means.  _ Vexing _ .

There was no reasoning with the elves, and so they had to be slain, along with the Red Templars and Corypheus’ pet Wardens. The long hall just before the Temple was thankfully empty. Several of the Elder One’s foot soldiers lay broken at the end of it, and judging from the sounds ahead, some had made it past whatever had despatched them. Birds circled towering, mossy statues of Mythal, almost hidden among the giant trees and thriving underbrush that had reclaimed the Temple.

“Na melana sur, banallen!” The elven mage guarding the bridge growled at the General of Corypheus’ army. A few archers stood behind him, arrows drawn and pointed at the trespassers.  _ Too few _ , Ilena decided as she crouched and looked over the railing.

“They still think to fight us, Master,” Samson mocked when his Red Templar knight dropped the lifeless body of one of the elven soldiers, and the mage flinched.

“Huh, guess they just stab any intruders first and ask questions later. Wish they’d concentrated on these assholes, we’d have gotten here sooner,” Terenti muttered from his hiding place. 

Ilena rolled her eyes and leaned just a touch more over the cracked stone to get a better look, and she almost jumped back once she did.

“These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows,” Corypheus strode boldly towards the bridge, his voice calm and certain as he spoke.

“Well of Sorrows?” She hissed at Morrigan, who had been, until this point, very confident that what brought him here was Mythal’s Eluvian. Now she only shrugged and shook her head.

The two stone dragons on either side of the bridge shimmered and hissed when the Elder One crossed the golden tiles, catching his attention only briefly. “Be honored! Witness death at the hands of a new god!” He took a couple of more steps forward, and the elven mage backed up before the statues caught the monster with arcs of ancient magic. Even as the flesh melted off him, Corypheus grabbed the mage by the head and held him up in the air. Only when the dragons exploded in a blinding flash of light did the mage fall limply to the ground where his men, along with those under Samson’s command, had been knocked down by the sheer force of it.

“Oh. Well then. Guess we win. That was easy.” Terenti stood, brushing a piece of  _ something  _ from the shoulder of his robe. 

“No,” Ilena growled, still looking over the railing. Samson and his beasts had somehow survived, and were regrouping. “Those vermin are still alive. I will not have this,” she pushed herself away from the edge and gestured at Blackwall to take the front as she pulled her staff from her back.

“Right, well, Templars, so.” Terenti stayed right where he was, gathering fire to hurl down from a very, very safe distance. 

Samson hurried his men towards the bridge before Blackwall even started down the long flight of weathered stairs, and the elf slammed her fist on the railing with a frustrated grunt.

“That cowardly bastard!” She whirled around and shoved the warrior out of the way to stomp ahead, the witch close behind her, muttering something about having to hurry, still, to protect whatever this Well was.

Terenti threw his fire down into a wall to block their progress, but the Red Templars didn’t even pause as their coordinated, collective dispel sucked the bridge dry again. Swearing, the magister jogged after the others. 

They had made it across by the time the Inquisitor descended the stairs, and with a toothy grin, Samson swaggered through the gilded doors. She stepped warily between the bodies, more concerned with how there was no sign of Corypheus; Not even a bloody splatter on the ground where the statues had melted him. It was then that one of the dead Wardens shuddered and arched his back with disturbing cracks and snaps.

“Oh that can’t be good,” Terenti commented, looking hastily for somewhere to hide. 

A fountain of black liquid poured from the Warden's mouth as his body twisted and twisted until it began to resemble Corypheus.

“It cannot be,” Morrigan looked on in horror when the creature's lids flew open to reveal a pair of glowing, red eyes. Ilena padded backwards with stiff steps, staff held out to herd them towards the Temple before even calling retreat.

“Across the bridge. Now!” She barked when she heard his fake archdemon.

Terenti didn’t need telling twice and heroically took the lead in headlong flight. 

The flying beast went after them with blasts of its corrupted power that tore the bridge, but it couldn't get past the enchanted doors that locked with a hum and click of ancient magic when pushed shut. Ilena looked around as the barrier washed over the golden panels and shone brightly at the seam. Corypheus’ General hadn’t left anyone to guard the entrance, which was as much of a relief as it was a concern. Something, or someone may have urged Samson to focus the whole force on the way ahead.

“At last,” Morrigan spoke at the bottom of the stairs just outside the chamber, “Mythal’s sanctum. Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes.”

“You very confidently stated that he was after an Eluvian, but he clearly said he’s here for the Well of Sorrows. What is it?” Ilena stopped near the first arch and looked at her impatiently.

“I am… uncertain of what he referred to.”

“Something else ancient elven and therefore extremely powerful. Does it matter? Let’s get in there and take it first,” Terenti said impatiently. 

“Of course  _ you’d _ say that,” Ilena cocked her head to the side to shoot him a disapproving glare. Even the barriers in the Temple, though efficient in their purpose, felt trapping and… familiar to the point of being troubling. They must have felt it, too. Or not, which made her not want to ask at all.

“Inquisitor, Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp,” the Witch added, clearly relieved that her blunder had gathered only so much notice, and took the frown aimed at her with grace. The elf threw her hands up in the air after a couple moments of silence and stomped through the ferns and overgrown grass. The carved pillars in the sanctum were ancient Elven, and offered little insight into what the Well may have been. The writing mentioned rituals, path to the Well of Sorrows to honor the goddess, the glowing tile beneath her feet very clearly a part of it. Reluctantly, she lit up the rest, and the magic flowed through her and towards the top of the stairs where two golden statues of Mythal guarded yet another magical door.

“Right. That did it, then,” Ilena breathed a tense sigh, and stepped off the tiles.

“The temple’s defense system is… a floor puzzle? Seems like they could’ve used a few more of those weapons from the bridge,” Terenti huffed. 

“It's not much of a puzzle when it tells you where to step next,” Ilena mumbled under her breath, the odd feeling of familiarity settling into her bones like they were made for it. “If death by incineration is your wish, you need not look that far, Magister,” she tried to not sound as uneasy as she felt and gave Terenti a light pat on the shoulder as she passed by him on the way to the stairs.

Teren rolled his eyes as he fell in behind her. 

“I see the Red Templars have already encountered the Temple's guardians,” Morrigan stepped between bloody corpses, “Perhaps we shall fare better.”

“I doubt they're in a talking mood,” Blackwall added when he saw the efficiency with which the Templars had been dealt with, hand kept on the sword at his hip. Bright, blue light shone through the intricate patterns on the door at the top of the stairs, and the magic disappeared the moment Ilena touched it. No, not disappeared, simply…  _ moved _ . Elsewhere. The door on the other side of the ruined chamber wasn't enchanted, however, and it opened with a simple push.

Samson blew a hole through the floor the moment they passed through, and even from afar he noticed the Inquisitor and her party approach.

“Hold them off!” He barked before leaping into the rooms below, and they did, though they were despatched quickly enough, in the same deadly efficiency the others had seen.

“Come on! We can still catch them!” Ilena shouted as she ran up the stairs and across the weathered tiles, but just before she could jump after Samson, Morrigan pounced in her way.

“Hold a moment!” The witch spoke between labored breaths. “While they rush ahead,  _ this _ leads to our true destination. We should walk the petitioner's path, as before,” She pointed in the opposite direction, at another door locked with a powerful barrier.

“Why bother?” Terenti scoffed. “The elves already attacked us outside. Should we risk those Red Templars getting to the Well first just to satisfy the caprice of a goddess who doesn’t even exist?” 

“For once he’s right, Inquisitor,” Blackwall agreed even as he kept his icy glare directed towards Terenti, “Our soldiers are dying out there. More of them will live to go back to their families if we don’t waste time here.”

Unable to justify any other action, the elf sighed and stepped past Morrigan. Mythal had proven herself absent or indifferent to the pain and suffering of her people, and the Temple’s guardians didn’t seem to even  _ understand _ the language spoken to them. Not even Elven. That, or they too, were unmoved.

“Inquisitor, there will be no turning back if we abandon these rituals and leap after Samson,” she warned, trying once more to stop Ilena from following the Red Templars. “You see the urgency. If there is chance that the rituals will give us more insight on what to expect ahead, we should take it. We cannot find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.”

“ _ Unprepared _ ? For what?” Ilena snarled, “It sounds like you wish to do more than just ‘ _ find _ ’ the Well, Lady Morrigan. This is not a discussion I will have with you. We are going after Samson and his blighted Templars,” she cut the witch off before any further argument was made, and cast a barrier over them as she stepped off the crumbling edge.

“I object in the strongest possible terms to that ‘for once,’” Terenti prodded Blackwall, even as they made their way through the shortcut underneath the Temple. “The Inquisitor herself finds my sage counsel quite valuable.” 

“I don’t think it’s your ‘ _ sage counsel _ ” that she finds valuable,” Blackwall snorted at his own riposte, but his amusement was short-lived; Ilena cleared her throat loudly enough for it to echo in the empty tunnels, silencing him instantly.

“Yes, well, if you weren’t such a smelly hairball you might get some of your own  _ counsel _ sometime.” Terenti gave the man a suggestive leer.

“I’m not sure I want to cater to your taste,” he couldn’t help but answer, or feel himself an outcast when Morrigan sighed at him, and the Inquisitor ordered the bickering to be saved for later.

The ancient crypts were damp and dark, and silent aside from the echoes of their own steps, and the occasional pained wailing and sound of sizzling flesh after each encounter with a group of Red Templars guarding the passages; Endless, twisting and winding and full of rubble that Samson’s men had left behind to slow their pursuers.

“‘Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan muttered to herself once they’d found and used the entrance to the inner sanctum. “What was this chamber used for?” It was grand, though the gold had flaked off the walls and the elaborate tiling on the floor, and braziers burned on top of pedestals. Something felt off. It wasn’t the stone archers that seemingly followed them with their eyes, or the slight scrape of metal on stone just behind them. The Temple didn’t want them there, or just her, judging from how the others didn’t even seem to notice.

“We’re being watched,” Ilena spoke over her shoulder, voice tense and hand ready to cast another barrier over the four of them. Several archers appeared out of thin air, blocking the door behind them and waiting for… something. There was no point in running back, or in any direction, what with the sentinels’ eyes trained on their every move, arrows drawn and ready to loose.

“Venavis,” a cloaked figure demanded from the floor above, and her eyes bore into him in an instant. “You… are unlike the other invaders,” he continued with just the slightest hint of surprise in his voice, “You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen. You bear the mark of magic which is… familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

He spoke the common tongue and appeared to be willing to speak. Were it not for the arrows pointed at her, Ilena would have breathed a sigh of relief. The man watched with barely concealed curiosity as she squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

“We are not invaders, and I will not be interrogated at sword point. Declare yourself.”

“I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground,” the man paused, a finger crooked in front of his mouth. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the Vir’Abelasan.”

“‘ _ The Place of the Way of Sorrows _ .’ He speaks of the Well!” Morrigan whispered excitedly.

“It is not  _ for  _ you. It is not for  _ any _ of you,” Abelas frowned, narrowed eyes focused on Ilena, though he supposedly addressed all of them. “It shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself. Masal din'an,” he ordered and turned to leave before she could try and reason with him, and the stretch of bowstrings was the only warning they got before the Sentinels attacked. Morrigan disappeared in a flash of magic and chased after him on the wings of a raven, slipping through gaps between the roots Ilena had summoned from the ground to shield them from the arrows.

“How rude. I mean, we do want it but he didn't even let us explain,” Terenti complained. “Do we kill them?”

The elf ducked when an arrow pierced through the damp wood with a muffled thunk, and she yanked him down with her. He was fine, she observed, aside from the drops of sap on his shoulder that he'd later complain about, and more roots sprung from under the tiles, creaking as they twisted around each other. “No, no killing. They speak, maybe I can talk to them, make them see reason--” Ilena thought out loud, desperately clinging to the hope that they'd listen and maybe, eventually, they would open their doors to the People and-

“They'll kill us if  _ we _ don't!” Blackwall’s booming voice snapped her out of it and she cast a real barrier over the group. He kicked one of the Sentinel shadows away from himself after he'd poked a hole straight through his silverite shield.

Terenti gestured hastily to unleash Fear on them. Dimly he realized he could have done that all along and had waited for Ilena to consent to fighting back. That was… worrying. Luckily whizzing arrows kept him from thinking about it much.

The Inquisitor ran towards the archers that had gathered at the far end of the chamber, and merely subdued them as best as she could without getting hurt herself. She left one with a broken arm when he tried to  _ stab _ her with an arrow, and dragged across the floor the one that didn't see the roots snaking between his feet. The rest scattered and found elsewhere to fire from.

The Sentinels fell, but didn't stay down. They were fierce and held nothing back, struggling not out of fear for their lives, but to fulfill their mission. If Blackwall hitting them near unconscious with his shield didn't slow them, Terenti’s pet demon had some of them flinching and cowering, even for a few moments only. It was only a matter of time before they would exhaust themselves trying to spare the Temple's guardians, and after several moments of hesitation, Ilena gave command to slay them instead.

Terenti nodded and twirled his staff. A fallen Red Templar rose again. This time, when the sentinels were frozen in Fear or bashed with a shield, the corpse’s sharp claws tore into them and kept them down. 

The rest she cut down with Blackwall, taking full advantage of his shield and bulk and staggering blows. It was over quickly enough despite Morrigan’s absence, and though they suffered no injuries to win this battle, Ilena couldn’t look at the carnage with anything but regret and disgust. Their blood stained her armor and hands, still warm and sticky, filling the air with a coppery smell.

“Find which way Samson went,” she finally croaked at Blackwall and wiped the red off her cheek with a hard swipe of her forearm across it. He snapped the arrows stuck in the shield with his sword before trudging between the corpses to check the doors.

“Presumably, the direction the witch fled in.” Terenti gestured for Blackwall to take the lead and they both stepped through the doorway, the warrior well in front. 

Ilena took one last look at the fallen Sentinels, a short, blurry-eyed glance before her guts twisted and she had to look away and leave, direction less relevant than simply getting out of the chamber. She could've sworn the door groaned when she neared it, and did just that when a barrier sprung in its place and gave her a sharp shove back.  _ Betrayer _ , ancient voices rumbled, their words felt rather than heard _ , snake _ , others hissed, and Ilena raked her eyes over the roiling magic. She reached to touch it, to test…  _ something _ , and it snapped back at her when she tried to dispel it.

“Wait,” the elf hissed and shook the pain from her hand before squeezing her fingers into a tight fist. The magic was cold as ice but not half as brittle. It felt infinite, and flowed and swirled almost gently when undisturbed, lashing out only at her attempts to trespass onto sacred ground. She briefly wondered if slaying the guardians was what upset the ancient magic these stones were laced with, and why it hadn't made itself known before, when she crossed the bridge, covered in the blood of those fighting outside. Perhaps it was because she, one of the People, abandoned the rituals so readily, and her gods listened only when they felt lack of worship, arrogant in their discontent.

_ No matter _ , Ilena thought bitterly, and pulled wildly on the Fade to throw a searing blast of fire at the magical barrier trapping her between the inner sanctum of the Temple and the outside, surely to be despatched by invader or Sentinel alike. Her attacks served only to aggravate it, however, and did little damage, if any. She let out a frustrated growl with the second burst of magic, followed by a string of curses muttered under her breath.

“Okay… That’s weird. Guess these temple elves are just super judgmental about the Dalish or something. Explains why they didn’t treat you any differently.” Terenti rubbed his chin. “The irony that it let the actual Tevinter magister swagger through unharmed. I wonder if--”

“We haven’t time,” Blackwall interrupted with a glance over his shoulder.

“Right. Just need a little blood…” He glanced down at the dead sentinel elves (they had plenty, didn’t they?) but paused before drawing on it. Something about the anguish in Ilena’s face and her reluctance to kill her people. Maybe he  _ shouldn’t  _ defile their corpses too, he thought for perhaps the first time.

Sighing, he used the end of his staff to cut his palm, wincing as he did. A rush of blood and power tore a hole through the barrier. 

“Well, come on, then.” 

The irony of being rejected by the Temple of her own goddess wasn’t lost on her, and though she would never mention it, neither was the Magister’s very conscious decision to not--

_ Right. The Well. _

The barrier raged and fought against his magic, struggling to make itself whole and cursing her in a hundred voices as she stepped forward. It stilled the moment she was through. The noise faded into whispers and murmuring, then, and Ilena couldn’t make out the words anymore. The resentment was clear, however, and she supposed there were plenty of things that could have earned it, wondering even as she pressed a thumb to Terenti’s palm and healed the cut. An entirely unnecessary gesture, Ilena decided and withdrew perhaps too quickly. She muttered a thank-you and hurried ahead.

“Don’t mention it,” Terenti muttered back, very much hoping Blackwall had missed the nuances of his blood magic. The man was ignorant and suspicious of the art in general, so hopefully… 

Statues of Fen’Harel, howling at the shimmering ceiling, sat on either side of the staircase. Her clan had called upon him to ward off malevolent spirits, but what entity did the ancients of her people fear  _ so much _ that it justified keeping the statues of the Dread Wolf after he had betrayed his kin? She rushed up the stairs at the sound of fighting just outside the chamber, and kicked open the door in the same beat that she summoned a barrier. Neither groups, exhausted from battling each other, managed to put up much of a fight, and with no more magic actively trying to keep them from passing through, reaching the heart of the Temple proved to be a quick and simple task; Even with the hidden levers and the maze of halls.

“The Well of Sorrows,” Ilena breathed as she meandered towards the railing, half drunk on its hungry, chilling song despite her wariness.

“I expect Morrigan will be along in a moment to try to take it herself,” Terenti observed. “Perhaps with that angry elf in tow.” 

“Fight on! An army of these bastards won’t stop us!” Samson’s gravelly voice echoed in the clearing, and the elf, once she’d gotten a good look at the massacre happening below, turned on her heel and darted towards the staircase to the side.

“Maker, help us,” Blackwall mumbled and followed just behind her, armor rattling as he ran.

“Oh yeah, I was really hoping the elves would have taken him out,” Terenti complained as trailed behind Blackwall. 

Ilena heard bickering and sounds of distress coming from the bottom as she ran, hope against sense that… she didn’t exactly know what she was hoping for. Before they made it down the stairs, Samson’s men had made quick work of the Sentinels.

“You tough bastards! A day’s march, hours of fighting, and still fierce as dragons!” The General punctuated each point with the shake of his fist in the air. “The Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.”

“Samson, sir! Watch out!” One of the soldiers pointed towards the approaching group, and he turned around with urgency that was quickly replaced with exasperation and disdain.

“Is this one of your friends? I named him Fred. He’s Fred now.” Terenti indicated the shuffling corpse behind them on the stairs with a thumb. 

“Inquisitor,” the General snarled through his teeth, eyes on the reanimated dead and its… puppeteer. Despite the red crystals protruding from his armor, he looked normal compared to his men, whose already mangled bodies had started to melt into the leather and metal they wore. “You’ve got a damn long reach,” he continued after a pause and eyeroll. “You’ve hunted us half across Thedas; Should’ve guessed you’d follow us into this hole.”

“Your reserves are gone, so is the lyrium. It’s time to stand down,” Ilena kept an even, commanding tone as she stepped towards Samson. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the waters ran red. Even if she hadn’t, the air  _ reeked _ of death and the Fade pressed heavily against the thinning Veil. She’d deal with Samson and his goons first, and check for survivors the moment after. Yes. Preserve some part of the legacy--

“To enjoy the mercy that you showed our brothers and sisters? No, thanks,” he huffed and waved a hand in the air, somehow amused by the situation. “Corypheus chose me  _ twice _ . First as his General, now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows.” He sounded confident,  _ proud _ , even, and extremely condescending. “You know what’s inside the Well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour the world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor,” the man spat, looking up at the Vir’abelasan like a predator stalks its prey in the treetops.

He didn’t respond entirely too well to Ilena’s threat of killing Corypheus first, and lashed out in more disdainful remarks, until his Templars had tensed and his armor had started to emit its corrupted magic. The runestone in Ilena’s pouch hummed when it sensed the power of it, and his words lost weight in that very moment.

“So, Inquisitor, how will this go?” Samson asked at the end of his monologue, finger pointing at the elf, and she chuckled, a low, bitter sound from the back of her throat. Without a word, Ilena held up the rune, and it rendered his armor useless in a flash. The man fell to his knees with a painful grunt as red crystals scattered over the moss-covered stones, and he rose only to rant, crying after his lost power.

“Ha. Nice. Sucks to be him,” Terenti commented. He pointed and Fred sprang to attack its former comrades. 

“Kill them all!” The General shouted, and his Templars roared in unison, weapons drawn as they charged while Samson stood back to steady himself. With just him and his lyrium Knight left, it seemed as though the battle had been won, but as before, the Temple’s guardians had sent reinforcements. They too were battle-worn, however, and fell just before Samson himself did.

“He’s still breathing,” Blackwall nudged him with his foot.

“Leave him there,” Ilena snapped, checking the fallen Sentinels for signs of life as she spoke, “Our forces will arrive soon, and see to it that he’s dragged to Skyhold for judgement.”

He nodded, and looked around only to catch a glimpse of Abelas, hurrying up the stone steps he had conjured, Morrigan hot on his tail.

“Oh, there they are. We should hurry,” Terenti suggested. 

“She’ll kill him,” Ilena gulped, almost resigned to the idea, but ran after the mages regardless.

The witch had beaten Abelas to the Well, and stood defiantly in front of him as the purple smoke settled around her. The Fade was dangerously thin there, and the Well’s whispers passed freely through it, beckoning, greedy. 

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor. The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows,” Morrigan spoke while Abelas shifted his gaze between her and the Inquisitor, now trapped between them. It was obvious he yet thought to fight them, but he was no fool.

“So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” finally, the elf sighed, face twisted into a mourning frown and arms hanging loosely at his sides.

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan snarled and stalked to the side, next to Ilena.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”

“Fool. You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!”

“Let it go, Morrigan,” Ilena rumbled then, already turning away from the Well, though her eyes stayed fixed on it. “We’ve done our part.”

“Well someone’s got to drink from it, don’t they? Why else are we here. Corypheus wants that knowledge so we  _ need  _ it,” Terenti said with a shrug.

“The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?” Morrigan added, eager to jump at the chance to claim the Well, as though she hadn’t read the same inscription that Ilena did, like she couldn’t hear it whispering promises and threats in the same breath of magic.

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas scoffed and stepped towards the rim of the Well. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on through this,” he continued and gestured at the still water. “All that we were, all that we knew, it would be lost forever.” 

“I know it’s not easy,” Ilena blurted out and prepared for sarcasm and contempt that never came.

“You cannot imagine,” Abelas turned towards her with a wistful look about his face instead. “Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp,” he said, and she was ready to try and reason with him again. “Our duty is all that remains. Those who drank from the Vir’abelasan paid a great price. Bound to the service of Mythal for eternity.”

“What do you mean  _ ‘bound _ ’?” Blackwall questioned, bristling at the implications.

“To you it shall make no difference,” the elf declared and his spell scattered them all across the floor. With a few gestures, he had the Well swirling violently within its confines, and the walls around it shuddered. The voices had barely silenced when Morrigan drove an enchanted dagger through mail and flesh on his back, and he fell limply to the ground.

“Spooky. But Mythal doesn't actually exist. So the drawback must be something else they interpret that way.” Terenti tapped his fingers together, paying no attention whatsoever to the dead elf. 

Ilena picked herself up with a frustrated growl, directed first at Morrigan, covered in Abelas’ blood, and then at Terenti. “Can’t you feel it? The desperate hunger its song carries?” She snapped, “It’s not just  _ knowledge  _ they passed on. The Well carries their collective will, the compulsion to-- ... it’s nothing pleasant, I imagine.” Mythal, if she ever did exist, was now banished beyond the Veil with the other gods, and that much she knew, but there was obvious danger to the Well. “Abelas’ plan to destroy the Well may be the best one,” the elf sighed and turned towards the Vir’abelasan with a doleful look, briefly doubting the words were even her own.

“Surely not. The witch is eager to jump in; let her pay the penalty if the compulsion endures,” Terenti said. “We need it.” 

“The wisdom of the Well may include a way to destroy Corypheus, and I  _ am _ willing to pay the price, Inquisitor,” Morrigan declared. “Give me this, and I fight at your side. I shall be your sword.”

Ilena didn’t doubt her words, though the witch was little less than extremely suspicious. It was what she  _ didn’t _ say that the elf didn’t like. Morrigan clearly knew more than she let on, and there was no telling what she intended to do with the Well’s power once Corypheus was dealt with. There was one other, less unselfish reason she didn’t want her to claim her people’s legacy, but she would never admit to that.

“No,” the Inquisitor denied her after a tense silence, and a voice inside her echoed the word before she had even declared her decision. If not Corypheus, then Morrigan would surely return to take its power. “I will drink from the Well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent chapter sizes? Never heard of 'em.


	17. Chapter 17

For days after returning from the Arbor Wilds, the Inquisitor locked herself away in her tower, refusing visitors and denying being ill, in an incoherent mix of Trade and Elven that she was aware of only after she'd been told; The Ambassador decided it was for the best if the guests at the keep weren't, however, and so she didn't press the issue.

Ilena had claimed the Well felt unbearably cold inside her head, but that it would help when the time came, and that too, was left at that, especially after Morrigan bitterly refused to give her accounts of the events at the Temple of Mythal.

Of course, a diplomat’s denials weren’t enough to dissuade one particular visitor. Terenti eventually grew impatient and burst into the tower room.

“I know you’re liable to randomly start talking in ancient elf right now, but there’s no need to stop seeing  _ me _ . We can be confused together.” 

Ilena sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, a large cloak wrapped loosely around her shoulders. She flinched at the sudden noise, but didn't look, didn't need to. Of course none of this would deter him.

“Magister Sokolov, this is a very unfortunate time,” Josephine hurried in after him, trying to get a hold of his arm. “I apologize, Inquisitor, the Magister insisted on seeing you at once,” she sighed when she caught up at the top of the stairs, clearly annoyed that she even had to do this instead of posting guards at the door to the tower.

The elf clenched her jaw and her mouth twitched when she turned her head. “It's alright,” she mumbled finally, voice tense and tired and almost clumsy, and the Ambassador left with no small amount of hesitation. “Garas,” Ilena beckoned and held out her hand when the door clicked shut.

“Okay, that one was elfy but I’m going to use context clues.” He crossed the room and took her hand in his. 

Ilena allowed herself a slight huff of a laugh and pulled on his hand. “Sit with me,” she muttered, very consciously picking words. The fire was warm, and if he so stubbornly wished to be confused, this was how it would be, not with her sitting on the floor and him… doing whatever, wherever else.

Terenti lounged on the floor beside her, an arm around her shoulders. “So besides speaking in tongues, how  _ was _ drinking from the mysterious, powerful magic font?” 

“Overwhelming, for one. I'm not sure I can…” Ilena made confused gestures and leaned into him, silently frustrated for a time. “I can tell you it hates me, though. Or some...  _ part _ of me,” she paused again, looking for the words to explain it without saying too much. “Hard to tell when a hundred voices yell and whisper at the same time. Constantly.”

“So it’s some sort of gestalt consciousness of all the elves in that temple, is that it? Might be looking down on the Dalish for losing the old ways.” He snorted. “Judgmental pricks. Considering it was nomadic life, alienages, or slavery, the Dalish did what they could.” 

“Why, Magister, that might be the nicest thing to date that you've said about my people,” Ilena teased, though the effect was entirely lost to how awkward she sounded between listening to the Well’s resentful, condescending complaints and trying to word thoughts of her own.

“Ours. Sort of. I mean, even a little elf is too much for Tevinter,” Terenti huffed. “Though I’d be too  _ shem  _ for the Dalish at that.” 

How readily he resigned to the idea of not belonging made her heart clench painfully, and she ignored it, but the lump in her throat still made speech more of an effort than it had been for the last several days, so she let out an angry huff before grumbling something in Elven; Words she didn't understand, likely not even hers to begin with. _ It's not unheard of for the Dalish to take in those with human blood _ , Ilena mused stubbornly, then, and the voices hissed their displeasure, and she pushed the stupid thought back. He was right, and the Well was right, and this had to end. Preferably sooner rather than later.

“I'll take angry grumbling as confirmation.” He sighed. “Still, I'd prefer any heir of mine to feel as though they've nothing to be ashamed of. That wouldn't be the case back home.”

“I suppose. You’re the expert on Tevinter,” Ilena mumbled after a pause that was just a breath too long, absentmindedly picking at the sleeve on her wrist. “The world is changing, though. They’ll have to catch up at some point,” she added flatly and shrugged. “Your secret is safe with me in the meanwhile.”

“I know. Thanks.” At the mention of it, and with the door firmly closed and locked, he took the ring off. 

“Does it bother you? The ring, I mean,” Ilena asked, unable to contain her curiosity longer than a few moments. The unprompted action caught her off guard, but she didn't even look up from the half-unraveled cuff. She figured it probably bothered him more to have it off, and he likely knew that she did, but she would hear him answer either way. The well wasn't as loud with him talking.

Terenti grimaced. “It still feels… wrong, having it off, but I’ll need to get used to it. Since this is what I  _ actually  _ look like.” 

“And what will you do when you go back to Tevinter?” The elf turned herself around to face Terenti, sitting between him and the fire now.

“If I want to keep the seat in the Magisterium for myself, I couldn’t be in a relationship with an elf publicly, much less show off that I’m elf-blooded.” He met her gaze, expression guarded. “Of course... there’s Vasili.” 

“You're brothers. Twins, even. Even if you abdicate your seat, being open about your bloodline is not going to be an option,” she huffed in the end, and evaded his unspoken question, though not as subtly as she wanted to.

“Correct. But I wouldn’t need to be there nearly as much if he had the seat. I could--that is,  _ we  _ could...” Terenti lifted a hand and let it fall. “Give me  _ something _ , here. You know what I’m trying to say.”

Ilena drew a sharp breath that she held behind pursed lips, eyes burning from the tears that threatened to blur her vision and hands clamped together, lest they started to shake.

“No. Spit it out,” finally she snarled, voice tight like she was choking on the words. Cruel, she supposed, to corner him like this despite knowing the answer would be the same, whether he spoke or not. She was not her, not  _ really _ , and so this wasn't real and it couldn't keep happening.

And that was probably a piss-poor excuse.

“Forget it.” And then he was kissing her, and perhaps the near-disastrous implications of her tone and her reluctance were what made him do it so desperately. 

Another sharp inhale and several Elven curses were all she managed between the kisses she returned with enough ardour to completely undo what she had (half-assedly) tried to accomplish. She should've shoved him, told him to leave; A clear “no” would have sufficed, too, but for all the strength and power she possessed, she couldn't pry herself from him.

“You can't do this to me,” Ilena breathed when she suddenly rose to her knees and pressed her forehead against Terenti's, hands cupping his jaw to… to… there was no real purpose to it that she could name, so she kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are these.... F e e l i n g s?


	18. Chapter 18

Corypheus was dead. Sundered and shredded by the very power he tried to control. It was some weeks past. Dignitaries had to show up. Repairs had to be made, the feast prepared, but the celebration banquet was finally scheduled for that night. Sokolov was still in her bed. It was midday and Ilena had already had four meetings and he was still lounging and nibbling on cheese. That should have made it easier.

It took Ilena a minute to collect herself. Her lips kept trembling and her eyes were hot  _and it should have been easy_. Finally, Ilena said, “You need to go home.”

Terenti paused, cheese held halfway to his mouth, and slowly turned to look at her. “Go where, now?”

“Tevinter.” Ilena swallowed, but her face stayed coolly disdainful. “Ambassador Montilyet booked you and your brother passage home, if you beat this crowd.” She twisted her hand around in a gesture to encompass the circus Skyhold had become.

“Hmm, I suppose I should set some things in order before I bring you in to destroy the Magisterium,” Terenti said. He turned back up to look at her canopy. “But I have so many things and none of them are packed. I will just have to wait until after everyone leaves.”

A curl of desperation nearly choked Ilena. This was it. An excuse. She could grab it with both hands and keep the terrible, infuriating, arrogant blood mage with her.

But she didn’t.

“Some of the castle staff are already packing up your old quarters. You’ll have to leave tomorrow.”

Terenti froze again, just for a moment. “Excellent. I can’t wait to eat real food again.”

“Me too,” Ilena said, though her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

* * *

One of the many terrible things about Sokolov - and one of the reasons she should be glad he was leaving - was that he never really slept. He knew perfectly well that she was still awake with her cheek pressed against the bite mark over his heart. They laid still and silent all through the night, even if the sounds of loud carousing from Skyhold’s guests were clear even up in the tower.

When dawn’s light finally being to creep through the windows, Terenti’s fingers brushed across the desperate nailmarks he’d left in her hip. He said nothing, but he moved his head, just the slightest thing, it would have been an idle motion from anyone else, nothing to be noted, but the way his chin brushed the top of her head was intentional. Too tender to ever be spoken of, but there. Real.

Ilena hardened her heart and got up, dressing as if everything were perfectly normal.

“Not going to give me one for the road?” Terenti asked.

Though she tried not to, Ilena glanced at his throat, covered in bruises that were just starting to set in. She swallowed. “You got plenty for the road last night.”

Terenti grunted and then there were sounds of him pulling his own clothes on.

Ilena tried to rush, tried to fasten the buckles on her armor quicker so she could escape before she said something regrettable. Something  _else_  regrettable. 

But her hands felt numb and they fumbled with ties and straps and he caught her at the top of the stairs. His hand was firm and fire-hot on her chin when he wrenched her face around to meet his eyes. Terenti stared into her, surely saw everything in her soul, but didn’t comment on. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned down and kissed her, hot and sharp, his teeth a thinly veiled threat. He released her all at once, hands and mouth, and took a step back. 

Ilena’s legs felt as uncertain and wobbly as a halla fawn, but she managed the stairs without tripping or stuttering. When she touched the doorknob at the bottom, she heard him say, “I’ll be waiting for you, Knife-ear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh, Ilena... What are you doing?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, lonely three years.

Ilena didn’t like the Winter Palace any more the second time than she had the first. People calling her rabbit, stupid masks, incomprehensible accents: it was all terrible. And the reason she was there? Worse. Some _shem_ s too big for their short pants were whining that she, a Dalish, had too much power too close to the borders.

Nevermind that she’d saved the world.

The only bright thing she had to look forward to was- “Dorian!” Ilena jumped on her friend in a hug and Dorian spun her around because he was the only good person in all of Thedas.

“Look at you. You’re half feral!” Dorian said with a laugh. “I wasn’t expecting you to go native after our little haunt with the Avvar, but here we are.”

“And you’re my knight in shining armor, here to save me from this poncey affair,” she chuckled, a stupid smile stuck on her face. The aftermath of the Breach had kept her… busy, and well away from the mind-numbing politics that came with being the Inquisitor. Fake pleasantries were what wore her down the most, and there was no need for them with Dorian.

“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I have bad news, though. I’m here in an official capacity, which means I have to have a retinue and… Well, Sokolov is here.”

Ilena's smile melted away in an instant, but she caught herself mid-scowl. She had heard, briefly, that an alliance of sorts had been established between them, which was more or less expected, what with how quickly this new movement had become a success on the Senate floor. And the whole elf-blooded thing, too, probably.

“Which one?” She asked, face guarded and voice cold, and dreaded the answer before it came. It never did, but the sympathetic smile-and-sigh was confirmation enough. She let him go, and he refused to stay gone. First, in her thoughts, and now here, probably itching to poke and prod at her face to face.

“Come,” Dorian held out his arm, and led her towards the shaded balcony when she took it. “We best get started on catching up before the Council bogarts your time and attention for the remainder of my visit.”

\--------------------

Hours passed before Dorian was discovered by the messenger, and he had barely gotten started, judging by the displeased huff he rose from the cushioned bench with. “Don’t go too far,” he said as he turned on his heel and walked backwards behind the anxious runner, “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” She stood to leave once he was well out of sight.

Though the sun had all but finished its lazy descent behind the hills of Val Royeaux, the crowd gathered to observe these theatrics still prowled the courtyard. Ilena stuck to the shadows in the garden, expertly dodging the overly curious and pretentious dignitaries as she made her way to the edge of the premises; There would be enough of them later. With a small sigh, she tugged at the fingers of her left and only glove, a sinfully pretty, decorated thing, and leaned against the bare trellis just next to the archway.

“Of course you _would_ pick my brooding corner at random,” a familiar voice complained from just outside her field of vision. “I hate Orlais.”

Ilena didn’t move or flinch, but her eyes darted on him at the first word, and with a light tug at the cuff of her glove, she pulled it back in place before shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she straightened her posture. Leaning against an adjacent wall was the magis- the _former_ magister himself. He was dressed just as ostentatiously as she was, but instead of the sharp Tevinter lines that Dorian wore, he had curling vines made of gold thread edging his robes. The blue of his official House colors didn’t look any better after two years against his too-pale skin and Ilena _knew_ she was focusing on anything, _anything_ to avoid it but- - Her thoughts stuttered in her head because he wore no illusions and his ears were pierced up and down to further draw attention to the slightly pointed tips. He had eyeliner to make his eyes look larger and even the cut of his sleeve cuffs was designed to accentuate the narrowness of his wrists.

There he was: publicly, unashamedly elf-blooded.

And absolutely not looking at her.

“Getting a head start on the accusations,” she paused, “... _Lord_ Sokolov? It’s lord now, yes?”

“Oh, you heard about that? Didn’t think you’d keep up. You made your lack of interest plain enough the last time we spoke.” Now Terenti was looking at his delicately manicured nails instead of her.

“Yes, despite my best efforts not to,” Ilena answered with her best impassive voice, though she could already feel the angry flush creeping up her neck. “The letter _was_ addressed directly to me, after all. Very wordy, I have to say.”

“The formal announcement was sent to all relevant political figures. Standard language. It’s only ‘wordy’ to you southern barbarians,” he scoffed.

“If you say so, Ma-- _Lord_ Sokolov,” she corrected herself and rolled her eyes, more at herself than him once she realized that this… charming exchange of biting remarks was the exact opposite of what she should have done.

“Yes, well, if that’s all _your worship_ , I have letters to procrastinate on. I’m sure you’d much rather return to your Tevinter-free existence.” He pushed off of the wall and made a show of dusting off his robes, though there was nothing out of place. However, he didn’t immediately walk away, no, he wanted to _linger_ , to rub salt in the wound. He fiddled with his bottom-most earring and- and a thin, fragile vine sprouted and wound its way through the rest of the rings in his ear.

Ilena did flinch then, would have gasped, even, had she not reined herself in. Her mouth twitched, but words didn’t come easily all of a sudden. She stared silently for… however long, and gulped before she spoke. “Where did you learn that?”

“Hmm?” Terenti pretended to have not quite heard the question and reached over and did the same to his other ear. “The magic? Proprietary, I’m afraid. We keep some knowledge limited to _family_ , after all.”

 _Which demon did you make a pact with this time?_ She thought to ask, along with a few choice curses. “Of course. How foolish of me to ask,” Ilena hissed, or at least tried to make it sound like she did, but waved a hand in the air before he could reply. “Just-- forget it. You can have this one,” she slumped on the nearest bench with a weary sigh.

Terenti gave an audible sniff before he started walking away, but he paused, just for the briefest moment behind her bench. He said words quietly, near-silently, but with enough vindictive fire to melt all of the snow in the Frostbacks. “You had your chance.”

It was only when he had left that she started picking at the glove again, eyes blurred and burning, fixed on the stone tiles in front of her. It was good that he thought so, she decided, because he was right. And that shouldn't have hurt half as much as it did.

Unprompted, the Anchor flickered faintly and its light pulsed under the thin fabric, and the sharp pain that came with it earned no more than a wince. _This is better_ , Ilena reminded herself bitterly as she briefly looked over her shoulder, and shifted so she sat cross-legged on the cold marble before returning her attention to her hand.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK plotted most of this. Yell at her, not me.

The Council was progressing as slowly as predicted. There were few things that the opposing sides agreed on, and those they didn’t, they were impossibly adamant about. Two days in, the Inquisitor was barely listening, and by the third - she had stopped putting effort into even pretending that she was. Funny to think that it was her people that once lived at an impossibly slow pace. Would have been, had her thoughts not been otherwise occupied.

Then there were offended gasps and ranting behind her back, and the messenger was rushing her out of the Council chamber and towards the left section of the palace grounds. It was odd being summoned out of the Exalted Council by the Divine herself, and even stranger to find her crouched next to a slain Qunari warrior several minutes after. It still paled in comparison with finding an active Eluvian at the end of a bloody trail that led several stories up in the palace.

No-one aware of the incident could offer any theories on where either of them came from, but it was clear that whatever wounded the Qunari was on the other side of the Eluvian, along with his allies, no doubt. With an unreasonable number of Inquisition guards posted at the door, some of the inner-- former inner circle were summoned. Moments after declaring she would look into the matter, Ilena was armed and armored, and excused from the Council session. She didn't argue when Dorian insisted on going with her, or when Bull and Sera made a point of complaining about “magic crap” and “elfy shite” even as they strapped on their armor without being prompted, and especially not when the former Magister moved to join them with an indifference cold enough to burn.

That was a concern momentarily forgotten and best left that way when they emerged in the Crossroads, endless and beautiful and full of magic that sang a sad, ancient song.  **_Focus_ ** , the voice in her head hissed, tense and loud enough that she almost thought others had heard it too. Cole probably did, judging from how he flinched with her. When did he--? Another matter not worth dwelling on. Divine Victoria wouldn’t be able to stretch the recess for long, even if she had enough time to…  _ Right, yes, focus _ . Ilena shook her head and followed the trail of blood, ignoring how the Anchor sent several jolts of pain through her bones as she walked.

“Since nobody else wants to ask,” Sera started and gestured at Terenti once the stepped through another Eluvian and found themselves in an Elven ruin, “what’s all  _ this _ ? You weren’t  _ elfy _ when you left.”

Terenti sniffed and buffed his nails on the front of his robes, his now magic-less signet ring tinking quietly against the silver fastenings. “I am all that I have ever been.”

The elf walked silently up the stairs with him, past another dead Qunari, watching him with narrowed eyes for a time. “What’s he talking about?” She caught up to Ilena then, and Bull pulled her back a couple of paces when the Inquisitor huffed in response. “What?! They shagged, didn’t they? She must’ve seen--  _ Fine _ ,” Sera began to protest and cut herself short with a grumble when the Qunari shook his head just slightly.

It took effort to resist sending everyone back through the Crossroads for the chance to avoid the inevitable headache, and then it seemed unreasonable. If the warriors petrified in a circle around the massive scorch mark in front of the next Eluvian weren’t enough, the explosions in the keep further ahead were concerning enough to favor said headache over whatever awaited at the other side; Which, unsurprisingly, were more Qunari. The numerous statues of the Dread Wolf were, while unexpected, not surprising, either. The spirits bound to the smoking tower were the oddity there.

"Atish'all vallem, Fen'Harel elathadra," their leader greeted, and his voice was almost welcoming, the warhammer on his back - less so.

“What’s  _ he _ talking about?” Irritated by the Fade-y nonsense and how not even Bull seemed to want to curse and spit with her about it, the archer turned back to Terenti again.

“Just because I look like an elf you think I can suddenly speak elf? Wow. Racist.” 

“It’s not racist if we’ve both got pointy ears!” She snapped, “At least baldie didn’t just  _ dress _ elfy.”

“That’s enough, Sera,” Ilena finally acknowledged the… conversation in the back of the group, and searched through the Well’s memories in the relative silence of Sera’s angry muttering. It had gone quiet after Corypheus was slain, answering only in whispers, and not always; Here it was loud.

"Nuvenas mana helanin, dirth bellasa ma," the spirit spoke again, seemingly unaware of her companions even when Dorian gave in to his curiosity and approached.

“I wonder how long they’ve been bound to this place,” he hummed and stroked his thumb over his chin.

“Mm, I doubt our new Elven expert has any answer to that, either,” Ilena mumbled. With him, she could always allow herself the bitter honesty she restrained with others, so Dorian’s light squeeze on her elbow came as a surprise.  _ Too loud _ , she realized soon after, but paid no mind to Sera’s delighted snort.

Terenti didn’t respond. He looked down at his staff and fiddled with the bindings around his focusing crystal. Whether or not he could understand the spirit, the tip of his ears twitched in a distinctly elvhen fashion that they hadn’t before.

_ Greet him. Complete the ritual _ , the Well urged briefly, and though it went silent after that, she could still feel its presence in her mind.

"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris," she spoke, and the spectral archers relaxed, their arrows no longer pointed at them.

“Amae lethalas.” With a nod, the spirit turned away to stand guard under the arch.

“I thought I’d have to turn his demony ass into a pincushion,” Sera breathed a nervous giggle as she fell behind Bull, trying to speak quietly for once.

“He only means to protect. We’re not trespassers. We are welcome,” Cole tried to reassure her, but only got a sharp “shut up!” in return.

The Anchor shuddered when they reached the other side of the tower, and the magic pouring from the fresco confirmed his words, as did the spirit in… not her head, exactly.  **_Stupid wolf_ ** , it scoffed after,  **_always first to make things worse_ ** .

The Well made its displeasure known only through resentful murmurs, and retreated promptly when faced with its presence. A nice change from the constant noise that Ilena had only recently learned to almost ignore.

The frescoes each chipped away at everything she'd been taught to know, and it would have broken her, were it not for how the Anchor grew… too impatient to hide or ignore. It longed for the magic in the walls, and clung longer to it as they ventured deeper into whatever this place was. Before long, Ilena was on her knees in the middle of a battle, doubled over and clutching her arm tightly as if that would stop it from killing her.

“Get the Inquisitor!” Bull shouted from across the field, having kept his eye on her even as he cleaved through his former allies.  _ Of course _ he'd noticed something was off.

“Go take your help to someone else! I'll patch her up!” Sera swatted at Cole when they both turned to aid her, and she dragged Ilena to the side. “What?! What is it?! Don't be daft, show me.” She frantically searched her for injury, and stopped pulling on her arm only when the Inquisitor tightly grabbed her wrist.

“It's not… a wound…” Ilena ground between clenched teeth, “I need magic--” The Anchor flared violently and the rest of her breath left her in a pained gasp.

Sera scanned for Dorian, and found Terenti closer. “Oi, are you deaf?!” She snapped at him, “She said she needs magic!”

**_Don't you dare refuse help, you prideful idiot,_ ** the voice commanded,  **_we're not dying in Fen’Harel’s den because of your ‘_ ** **feelings.** **_’_ **

And so she swallowed her pride and looked up to meet his eyes, though she couldn't see much through the tears blurring and burning hers.

But Terenti wasn't looking at her. His free hand was fussing with the front of his robes while he used his staff to keep directing his risen skeletons. “Pavus, looks like your little friend needs you. Feel free to drain yourself doing it. I'd rather like being the best necromancer in Thedas.”

Desperation quickly turned into hurt into anger, the pain in her arm forgotten again.

**_Temper_ ** , the spirit warned, more concerned with its own safety than anyone else's, but that served only to rile her up more.

“Screw you!” Ilena yelled in his direction, but not at him, and shoved Sera away as she stood and turned towards him. “Why in the Void are you even here if you're not going to help?”

“I'm here to ensure that Pavus makes it back to Tevinter alive. No more. No less.”

Ilena hissed. “Obviously you’re not doing it out of love, so why do you care?” She watched as he shrugged and swung his staff in a casual arc. Even after two years he spun it at  _ just _ the right angle to keep it from clashing with hers. If she’d been standing nearby.

Terenti waved dismissively at her without looking, but he couldn’t keep the sharp bite out of his voice when he said, “I’m being paid with the prestige I lost revealing my true bloodline.”

The Inquisitor stumbled to her feet and laughed, a tired sound on the verge of sounding unhinged. “You heard him,  _ Pavus _ ,” she winced when Dorian rushed to her and slipped his arm around her waist, “best get back now. Wouldn’t want to cost him any more of his  _ prestige _ .”

He stubbornly held on tighter and grabbed at her wrist even as it flared and lashed out at his hand. She showed him before, at the palace, and it was stable. Or at least not nearly as bad as it had gotten in mere hours.  _ There has to be something about this in the old tomes _ .

**_It will only be worse when it recharges_ ** , the spirit scoffed, but made no effort to stop her when she struggled free and reeled away from the group.Magic burst from her hand and cracked like whips as it struck the ground around her, and the Anchor stilled, leaving behind only a dull ache.

“It didn’t like that. It wanted to be awake,” Cole mumbled as he watched the elf shudder and struggle to steady herself. 

“I don’t care,” Ilena growled, voice still strained from the aftershocks and eyes trained on Terenti. He was angry, and however unreasonable, she was angry and hurt that he was. “Back to the palace. I’ve seen enough.” She felt Cole move until he was walking just behind her.

“ _ Soon. Too soon, but not yet. I can stay. Just a little more. A few more hours. A day. As long as I don’t see- _ Ow!” Cole’s stolen train of thought cut off abruptly. “How did he do that? He couldn’t do that before…”

_ Maybe because he had nothing to hide then, _ she thought to herself, trying to occupy her mind with the sort of rubbish that urged her to keep a guard on him when he first arrived at Skyhold. This was easier, and the spirit was probably wrong anyway.

**_You have your own secrets to hide, Inquisitor. Best keep them that way,_ ** the voice reminded in an attempt to latch onto her desperate need to get away from her guilt, and retreated to the back of her mind once it was sure they were leaving the Dread Wolf’s domain.


	21. Chapter 21

The Anchor fussed less at the palace, away from the ancient magics in the Crossroads and at the Elven ruins that accelerated its destabilization. It still throbbed like a festering wound, though, and Ilena felt the way it was poisoning and tearing at her essence as it struggled to free itself from her, but it was quiet and the silence was… good, and relaxing until it wasn’t. There was a reason the Inquisition was needed here; First, the Council, then the Qunari plot to invade the South and the mystery agent that fought against them… And now former Magister Sokolov.

Stupid, she supposed, to dwell on the blighted blood mage and his motivations while the world was suddenly so keen on tearing itself apart. But that’s what he was: A blood mage from Tevinter, and she had scorned him. None she had met before considered the extreme beneath themselves, and she had seen what Terenti did to Antoine’s corpse; Nevermind that the idea to bring him back was hers, and him taking it a step further did little to unsettle her. The man had done worse for less, she should’ve known better than to--

“... but we need to work on your melee attacks. The Antaam doesn’t fight the same way as-- Boss, you still with me?” Bull’s voice halted her train of thought and she took a moment to shift and lean on the tavern table.

“Bull, I need you to…” Ilena almost gagged on the words before she even spoke them, “... to take care… of him.” She looked away when his mouth tightened and brows creased in the middle. “There are… things he cannot know, and I can’t risk him finding out if… I’m not buying the whole  _ ‘protect Pavus’ _ crap,” the elf snarled in the end and willed herself to look him in the eye.

“Mmh, me neither.”

“Then you--... if he does anything shifty--” Ilena stammered, hands squeezed into fists tight enough to feel the sting from her nails.

“Look, Boss,” Bull sighed and pushed a tankard towards her, “he’s not here to keep Dorian out of harm’s way any more than he is to cross you.”

“You don’t  _ know _ that!” She snapped, trying desperately to keep her voice even.

“I do,” he simply stated as he poured her drink. “He’d kill his brother before betraying you, and you know he loves the idiot more than himself.”

“I didn’t come here for you to try and change my mind, Bull. If you’re not going to do it--”

“But you did. If you  _ really _ wanted him dead, you would have gone to Sera. Instead, you came to me, because you knew my answer already.” He stood and walked around the table with slow, relaxed steps. “You can pretend there’s nothing there, but I won’t stab a broken man in the back.”

Ilena didn’t look up when he left, or when the shadows chased the last of the lantern’s light from the tavern and the chill of night settled around her. It was the Anchor’s sudden sting and burn that finally prompted her to find her way to the guest wing, to the bed that offered no comfort even with its silk sheets and throws of the softest fur this side of Thedas. She pulled the covers up to her nose and allowed herself a single sob when the tears rolled down her face and soaked the too-fancy pillow. The second one wasn’t intended and neither was the third, but it was fine as long as these were angry tears, and she decided that that’s exactly what they were.

Even under the thick blanket, she heard the footsteps that stopped just a pace from her door, although they were lighter than before. Had she not heard him, she would’ve felt his presence, and she did.  _ Fucking peacock _ . Ilena kicked off the covers and pushed herself up and off the bed, bare feet making no sound on the cold marble as she crossed the room. She grabbed the handle and in the same breath wished she hadn’t made the effort to stay quiet. He would’ve probably left if he’d heard her, but he was  _ there _ , and she yanked the door open.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” Ilena tried and failed to give her voice a biting edge, and glared at him to make up for it. “Came to get a kick out of hearing the Inquisitor whine and whimper in pain?”

“I know it’s not worth your notice, but I was given the suite down the hall, which means-”

“You’re lying!” She snapped and hooked her fingers in the sleeve of his robe with a quick swipe. “Tell me the truth.”

Terenti met her gaze for the first time, but his face was blank. “You know exactly why I’m here. Now unhand me, so we can resume pretending we don’t.” 

_ No _ , Ilena wanted to say, would’ve shouted it if she had tried to speak, so she stared at him instead, probably looking like she didn’t understand what he meant. “I’m dying,” the words came on their own and she sucked in a breath she didn’t need but held on to.

“I  _ know _ . But what can I do about it? Nothing. Even if I  _ could _ , you’re too stubborn and stupid and self-sacrificing to let me. Like with the--” He didn’t finish the sentence, tossing his head as if to throw the thought away. “Now release me!” 

She said it then and pinched her lips between her teeth to stop the sobs and whimpers that threatened to choke her for it. “No,” she repeated as she tried to breathe in again, hot tears running down her cheeks when she only wanted to blink them away. It was panic or grief or pathetic self-pity that made her stumble forward and bury her face in his chest to muffle her miserable cries and snivelling. That he still smelled like the woods at dawn only made it hurt more, and made her hold on that much tighter.

Though he’d been ordering her to let him go, Teren’s resolve didn’t hold up. He held her as if nothing had changed in the last two years - that way he always had, after the first nightmare, where she was the only real thing in his world and he wanted to keep it that way. 


	22. Chapter 22

It wasn’t the noise outside that woke her, or the stinging in her hand. No, it was…  _ snoring _ . Loud and obnoxious, and stirring distant memories of cold keeps and warm beds. There was none of the same chill in the air at the palace, but there was a bed and it  _ was _ warm. Ilena didn’t want to open her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to regret it when she did. There would be time enough for that later, when he too, was awake, piercing, blue eyes either accusing or averted. She pushed herself up to lean on her elbow, careful not to rouse him, and simply stared for a time, purposely avoiding the new, angry scar just above his heart, where she bit him the day she--

Ilena choked back a small whimper as guilt crept up to her, and quickly wiped away the angry tears. It wasn’t fair that she left him to  _ this _ and probably worse, and it wasn’t fair that he still came back, returned when she couldn’t keep him. She tried to distract herself from - from  _ everything _ , so she took hold of the stupid necklace- _ thing _ that he’d refused to remove the night before. He’d never protested being divested of his jewelry - sometimes he would toss it across the room just to hear the sound it made, so what was different about this?

After a moment of fussing, the pendant opened. Inside it was an engraved portrait that she recognized as herself. Barely. The image was in a distressed condition at best, but the amulet itself was well-kept and it  _ thrummed _ with magic, so a faulty spell wasn’t cause of the deterioration. Ilena could see the portrait falling apart one tiny piece at a time, in an almost perfect sync with the steady rhythm of the Anchor.  _ Coincidence _ , she decided, but exercised what little control she had remaining over the mark to let it strike at the Veil for the briefest of moments, still. It wasn’t the sudden pain that brought her to the verge of tears again; The amulet picked up on it in an instant, and she could see fragments of the image flake off and fade away.

But then the door handle clanged loudly and she jumped at the sudden noise, thoughts scattered and heart pounding in her ears.

“Sweet Maker!” Dorian gasped, hand over his heart, and continued with barely concealed amusement in his voice, “We didn’t think you would  _ actually _ talk to him. I would’ve knocked if I had known!”

“Fuck off, Pavus,” Terenti groaned, pulling a pillow down over his face. “I need my beauty sleep.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be disappointed to know that--”

“Dorian, please!” Ilena squeaked and snatched the pillow from him to cover herself before scanning the hallway for the rest of the… entourage. “At least close the door,” she begged and rambled upon realizing that she had just invited him in, “ _ After _ you leave. Which you should do  _ now _ .”

“Good morning to you, too,” Dorian tried to sound offended, but promptly did as requested. Repeatedly.

**_I must confess, nothing you’ve done for the past two years compares to this foolishness_ ** , the spirit scoffed.  **_But now that you’re done wasting my time to undo in one sweaty tumble the damage your own cruelty--_ **

“Shut up,” Ilena snarled, and immediately clapped a hand on her mouth.

“Huh, your ‘friend’ sounds a lot more talkative than Fear.” Robbed of his pillow, Terenti huffed at the closed door. “Bet it doesn’t have George’s sparkling personality either. Worst of both worlds.” 

She inhaled sharply to speak, to deny it or to change the subject, but she knew even this silence was a confirmation, so silent she stayed, eyes cast down and fixed on the floor like a stupid child.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _ Stupid for letting this happen, stupid for caring, stupid because she knew she was stupid, and did it, still.

“The Well was one thing, but you had it in hand. All it did was reveal something  _ else _ . Something so strong that you spent a year with those smelly barbarian Avaar, who admittedly,  _ do  _ have interesting spirit possession magic.” He shrugged. “When I heard about that, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. A little research, a little common sense, and paying George to fill in the gaps…”   

“Then there’s nothing to discuss…” Ilena mumbled, her voice barely audible. There was plenty to discuss, even after--  _ especially  _ after the desperate whispers from the night before.  _ Would _ have been, if not for how mending things now would bring more pain than solace in the end.

“Mmm, yes, perhaps it already has full control of you. The Inquisitor I knew wouldn’t just roll over and die,” Terenti said, with a painfully familiar smirk in her direction.

“And what would you have me do? Pretend that none of this is happening? Live in blissful ignorance however long I can?” She laughed bitterly. “You must not know me as well as you think you do if you believe I haven't done everything in my power to--” her voice gave out, and with a frustrated huff she threw the stolen pillow back at him.

“Not  _ everything  _ in your power. You spurned an ancient demon of Wisdom that knows far more about spirit possession than the both of us put together,” he said, his expression sinking into something far less amused. “All because you just  _ had _ to send me away.” 

“And you  _ had _ to come back,” Ilena tried to sound angry, but the words came out in a sad croak instead and she looked down. “It's not about how strong it is or isn't, Terenti, it never was. I wouldn't have… not if I had known--” she stammered and paused to collect her thoughts, and shook her head. “It makes no difference now.”

“Since it doesn’t, humor me. Known  _ what _ , exactly?” 

That stirred a hundred buried thoughts that she never expected to have to put into words. Not for him. Not  _ now _ . He was supposed to have moved on, or at least grown to hate her, as she thought--  _ hoped _ he had when she first saw him here.

She knew the silence stretched on too long when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by ' _ Your Worship _ ’ spoken in a thick Orlesian accent. Ilena ignored it, and instead glared fiercely at him. Or she tried to.

“And what exactly will this give you,  _ Magister _ ?” She snarled Terenti's former title as she straightened her back. Posture would have to do when her voice faltered and the red in the corners of her eyes betrayed the admittedly well-deserved heartache that prompted her to lash out.

“I’m not asking because I have an  _ agenda _ . I’m asking because I still care, as you and I both know  _ quite well _ ,” he said with some exasperation. 

_ I wish you didn’t, _ she thought as looking him in the eye became increasingly difficult. She wished she didn’t, either.

“Inquisitor?” The woman outside the door called again, sounding mousier than before, but not enough to think she would leave. “The Council of Heralds has gathered for today’s session. They wish to know when Your Worship will be joining.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of that.”

With the efficiency of one desperately grasping at distractions, Ilena shrugged into a robe and crossed the room with an almost hasty gait, breaking eye contact only when her hand touched and pulled at the handle.

“Inform the Council that  _ Her Worship _ will arrive in her own time,” she said with a weary voice as she held the door half open and clutched the collar of the too-big robe with the other. “And have someone bring fresh sheets, and water for the bath,” the Inquisitor added and shut the door before the practiced, whiny speech full of ‘buts’ and rules of ettiquete came in reply.

“I know what I did was stupid. I knew the moment I realized that this…  _ spirit _ , whatever it is, changed nothing about what I did or said or wanted,” Ilena continued before she turned around, “I thought it was too late to do anything about it then, and I know it’s too late now.”

She didn’t mean to walk back to him, or to settle on the edge of the bed, but she sat there regardless, hands in her lap and thumb pressed into her palm where the Anchor flashed an angry green. “We are out of time, and that's probably my fault, too.”

Terenti sat quietly before touching her shoulder. “You know it’s Solas, don’t you? Your spirit or whatever told you?”

She responded with a slight nod and shrugged right after. “I know what you're thinking, or hoping, I suppose… There's no knowing the Dread Wolf’s whims,” Ilena mumbled and swore in Elven, her expression suddenly a great deal more annoyed than wistful now. “If it--  _ she _ isn't lying about what she is, it won't matter that it's Solas.”

“Obviously you’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” Terenti said, sounding halfway back to his normal arrogant self. “We just shove his bald head into the mud until he fixes your arm. Who cares what else he’s up to?”

“Forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm,” she laughed nervously and waved a hand in the air, “If the worst happens, I’ll be turned to stone, and you’ll just end up with your own statue of the Inquisitor.”

“Why would that arrogant pissant kill you? I know the inner workings of a stupid egomaniac drunk on power far better than you ever will. He doesn't see you as a threat. You're not even a person to him. Saving your life paints him as a benevolent God in his own rotted mind.”

“Ugh, not me,” Ilena grumbled and turned to face him, “The spirit--”

**_He doesn’t know. Idiot Hunger kept its mouth shut, it seems._ **

“Nevermind. You’re right. Solas probably won’t realize either way.”

“Who cares about the spirit? Maybe Mythal decided to possess you  _ and _ that sexy witch’s mum. It doesn't matter.”

“Clearly  _ you _ don’t care,” she breathed and blinked at him, only somewhat amused at how stupidly relieved she was, and for the wrong reason to top.

“Good. Now that you’re done being stupid, ditch the dressing grown and we’ll  _ really  _ give them a reason to replace the sheets,” Terenti leered. 


	23. Chapter 23

The last Eluvian loomed in front of them. Of course the angry female Qunari, who chose to wear an overly large book as an accessory for… some reason… had beaten them there. Terenti yawned as she started another speech about the agents of Fen’harel manipulating both the Qunari and the Inquisition. With a savage grin of triumph, she named Solas as the agents’ leader.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. George told us - Look, why don’t you just get out of the way and let the adults handle him?” he shouted back at her.

The taunting didn't help with the Viddasala’s anger, or her revulsion to magic and those cursed with it. She took one last disgusted look at the Inquisitor, brought to her knees by the power that once tore and mended the sky, and walked through the Eluvian to confront Solas. She seemed to be unaware of who he was, and Ilena almost envied her ignorant confidence in her chances of surviving  _ and _ slaying him. She pushed herself off the ground, hissing in pain as the Anchor’s power flared again. The pulses came faster than before, in an almost constant buzz when it wasn't lashing out. The ancient spirit had told her that the Orb belonged to Solas, and so did the mark and its magic, making clear how he had, among other things, stopped if from killing her before.

Solas, or Fen’Harel, didn't  _ need _ its power, as was evident from the destruction he’d left behind, but maybe he could be convinced to take it. She clung stupidly to the hope that he would, if such a thing was possible. The spirit claimed ignorance when Ilena asked, and that was as good as confirming her fearful suspicions.  _ All _ Elven gods had Foci. If its identity was as it claimed, it should’ve known more. The lying, useless  _ demon _ .

“Boss, there’s more of them coming,” Bull growled at the sound of feet stomping echoed through the tunnels, and his voice snapped her out of the pointless chain of thoughts.

There weren’t many, Ilena noted, but just enough to keep the others busy. She hadn’t  _ seriously _ considered chasing after the Dread Wolf by herself at first, and sure enough the spirit, now as quiet as before the Well, insisted she stay away from him completely, lest he sense its--  _ her _ presence and strike down both of them, but Ilena knew Solas was close by how fiercely the Anchor flared, and if he was in no mood to talk… Well, she was dying either way. A brief glance at Terenti, and the thought suddenly filled her with more guilt than fear.

The Qunari soldiers poured into the chamber and attacked with worrying efficiency. With a frustrated growl, the Inquisitor swung her staff in a high arch and slammed the bladed end into the ground, making fire burst from it to disorient them just enough to ensure the survival of her companions while she stalked, or staggered, towards the Eluvian to go after the Viddasala.

The others stayed to cover her back. All, that is, but one former magister, who was easily able to keep pace with her small, stumbling steps. “I left them my latest Fred. They’ll be fine,” he justified, before she could protest. 

“And what about you? You don’t know what’s up ahead past that Eluvian,” Ilena objected regardless, each word carrying less weight than the last. No, she didn’t know either, and yes, logically thinking, going alone was the exact opposite of reasonable. She looked over her shoulder even as she tried desperately to find the words to explain or convince him to not--  _ Qunari Fred. This complete madman sicked an undead Qunari on the elite forces of the Qun. _

“ _ Fine _ . Nevermind. Just don’t jeer at him, too,” she yielded, knowing full well that he would do exactly that if the opportunity presented itself, and not entirely sure whether she wanted to kiss or yell at him for it.

“Yeah, no promises on  _ that _ . Have you seen his hobo robes?” 

_ The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits _ , the book had said. It made her skin prickle in anger.

“Beware the forms of Fen’Harel…” Ilena muttered to herself when she stood in front of the Eluvian. “Just know that if you provoke Solas into attacking us, I’ll kill him first, and then you,” she grumbled the toothless threat as she moved her staff to her left hand and grabbed his wrist with the right.

“Yes, yes. Let’s just hurry,” Terenti said, stepping into the mirror. 

The mirror led to the ruins of what must have been a yard of some purpose once, and there stood several stone Qunari in a circle around the Eluvian, weapons drawn and raised to attack. Ilena let her staff fall with a clang before pushing further along the distressed stone path, tugging Terenti behind her. Not that that was strictly necessary.

“Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost,” she heard Solas say from atop the cliff, his voice calm and steely and carrying none of the old uncertainty she’d picked up on before.

The Viddasala growled…  _ something _ she couldn’t place, but the hostility in her voice made Ilena scramble towards them, between petrified soldiers and through the clear streams. The Qunari woman turned to stone the same way her forces had, frozen mid-attack, and Solas slowly wandered towards the towering Eluvian at the edge of the cliff. He turned around with the same hesitation she called his name with, and the pain from the Anchor made her knees give way when she tried to step closer. 

“Okay… he couldn’t do that petrification bit before. Not ideal.” Terenti stepped to partially shield Ilena from any sudden attack. 

Solas closed the distance between them without uttering a word, and his eyes flashed when his foreign magic tore through the Veil and washed over the clearing they stood in. “That should give us more time,” he spoke once the Anchor settled and allowed her to, with great effort, still, stumble back to her feet. “I suspect you have questions.”

“Not really. George told me exactly what you are. So skip the speech and fix her--” Teren froze mid sentence. Quite literally. Solas hadn’t bothered to gesture or even look at him as he cast the spell.

Ilena sucked in a loud breath and grabbed for the former Magister in a panicked frenzy. “What did you  _ do _ do him?!” She barked at Solas, eyes glassy and furious and fixed on him as she struggled against Terenti’s dead weight to carefully lower him to the ground.

“It is temporary.” He stepped closer, still, now only a few paces away.

“So you say, Dread Wolf,” the Inquisitor spat at him and tried herself to find the answer he withheld. She could tell the spell was similar to what he had used on the Qunari, but it was far beyond her understanding of magic. With the spirit gone silent to avoid Fen’Harel’s attention, Ilena resigned to simply holding him for a time.

“This conversation is not for him, lethallan,” Solas sighed and held out his hand. There was little sympathy in his eyes and posture even as he claimed kinship, and his admission to having lured her here only to save her from the Anchor sounded like the sort of lie she’d expected to hear from the Dread Wolf.

Ilena rose on her own with a defiant glare, but listened to his monologue for a time between glancing back as he led the way towards the Eluvian. He stopped talking and the mark lashed out, and everything was spinning again. She barely remembered how Solas took the Anchor from her, or how she managed the strength to bear the new sort of ache in her arm as she all but crawled back to Terenti, lying still as before.

“Open your eyes,” the elf demanded and her voice faltered when none of her spells took hold. “ _ Open them _ ,” she ground between her teeth, angrily swiping at the tears before they rolled down her cheeks. The Anchor was gone, no longer poisoning her with its magic each time it flared, and while she didn’t care anymore, she could tell that the portrait in the amulet had stopped falling apart. “You can’t be gone. Not now. Not like  _ this _ ,” Ilena made a sound that was somewhere between a croak and a bitter laugh, and stroked the stray wisps of hair out of his face.

The Eluvian they came through seemed to remain undisturbed by Inquisition and Qunari alike, and that too, mattered little. In removing the Anchor, Solas had given her time enough to mourn what he took from her. She laid her head on his chest, taking solace in hearing the faint beat of his heart. She would wait and try again, try every spell she knew, and hopefully live long enough to kill the Wolf if all else failed.


	24. Chapter 24

**_I must say, I'm surprised your fumbling didn't alert him of my presence, but I_ ** **am** **_pleased_ ** , Ghilan’nain spoke and her voice echoed and rippled in the perfect silence of her corner in the Fade, where she had taken Ilena before she could protest it. It seemed like the spirit was waiting for her to seek her out, and even though  _ she _ had to find her instead, her presence was almost calming, as before.

_ “You didn't help me,” _ Ilena reminded as she stared at her own back in the still water, _ “Not even after Solas left.” _

**_I will give it back if you wish. Even in my weakened state it is possible for me to restore it._ **

_“Restore what?”_ She asked, and the reflection turned to face her before extending both hands for her to take. Ilena startled and reeled back from the water. “ _My arm--”_ she gasped and chased the spirit from her mind as she tried to see deeper into her thoughts. “ _Oh, you’re full of shit,”_ the elf snarled, voice dripping with venom, “ _I called to you when my magic failed me,_ begged _you to answer, to at least tell me how to save him. All I got from you was silence then, and now you think restoring my arm will make everything better?”_

Ghilan’nain listened quietly, growing only more amused when Ilena moved to leave her peaceful domain despite knowing her anger and pain had attracted the attention of several demons, that only the spirit's presence kept them away. But it wasn't her willingness to face them that entertained her, no. The Inquisitor didn't know what had become of the northern mage, and grieved the loss of that which wasn't lost. The emotional ones were always so easy to control. A small gift and a promise of safety, and it wouldn't be long until she danced to her tune again.

**_Very well,_ ** the spirit sighed, its voice ringing from everywhere at once,  **_I will allow you to leave and remain undisturbed until I need you. Should you need a helping hand before that, you may call on me and I will aid you. But for now, a gift awaits you in the waking world, so open your eyes._ **

Ilena's body jerked and her eyes flew open, something she regretted and rectified instantly. Though it was only dawn, the light was brighter than it had any business being, and the curtains swung closed with the swipe of her hand. Something caught on the blanket when she lifted it, but she paid it no mind.

There was a loud clang of metal - a bowl? - and the sound of someone shuffling over the marble tiles.

“Y-your Worship, you're awake,” a young man sputtered and she felt his weight press down on the bed before his hand covered her forehead.

She moved away from him and opened her eyes again. Her throat was dry and her limbs felt boneless, but her magic had returned, and she didn't need to be cared for like an infant. She was about to cast a healing spell when a thin chain brushed against her forearm at the unsteady movement, and she grabbed--  _ tried _ to grab it, spectral fingers passing right through it.  _ Right. _ She wiggled her wrist then and caught it in the palm of her good hand.  _ The amulet _ , Ilena realized and squeezed it hard enough that the metal almost bit into her skin. Vasili must have left it there, looped around her wrist to remind her of what she’d done.

“Perhaps you should try to rest more, my lady,” the man suggested nervously when tears welled up in her eyes. “You were exhausted beyond reason when you were brought here.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Today is the third, your Worship. The mages did their best to quickly fix the damage, but we are lacking in spirit healers, and they could do no more.”

“And where was Lord Sokolov taken?”

“To his room, my lady. He visited several times after he awoke. Left that pendant with you the last time he was here.”

“ _ Awoke _ ?” Ilena pushed herself up and swatted at his hands when he tried to help her to the edge of the bed. At least he wasn’t trying to convince her to rest anymore. “Where is he now?”

“I-I don’t know, your Worship. I will send someone to--”

“No. You will find Divine Victoria and inform her that I have awakened, and that I will be able to attend the Council tomorrow,” she waved him away and clumsily threw the ridiculous formal jacket around her shoulders before staggering down the hall. The sun had just begun its ascent, which limited the number of places he could be at, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of flickering light through the half-open door of his room.

“That’s a  _ priceless  _ item, you fool. Be careful with it!” his voice snapped. Packing, then. Or more accurately, yelling at other people to pack.  

“The council hasn’t concluded yet, you know,” Ilena rasped from the doorway as her eyes scanned the almost empty room.

“But the threat from the Qunari and Solas has. The rest of the Tevinter delegation can handle protecting Pavus from Ferelden bad manners and Orlesian blustering.” He was back to not looking at her, though since the room was almost entirely devoid of anything else to stare at, this left him with great pretend-interest in one of the blank walls. 

“You’re leaving,” she mumbled once the last servant hurried out past her. “Why? I thought…”

“That because we fucked once when you were dying, the clock turned back two years? Make me forget that you left me without a word? He didn’t cast an amnesia spell on me,” Teren scoffed. “I’d hoped you’d still be asleep, but these damn servants are criminally slow.” 

“That’s not what I thought,” Ilena protested, but he was right and she didn’t really know what she’d thought or hoped for. “You can’t go,” she declared after a short pause, and though the words came on their own, her voice faltered and her heart clenched painfully enough to bring her on the verge of tears again.

“You aren’t going to come to Tevinter with me. I offered you a life there and you refused. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“I’m the fucking Inquisitor, and I will do as I please.” She stepped closer with little grace between trembling breaths and features twitching in her effort not to cry. Again. “I’m the fucking Inquisitor, and I order you to stay by my side.”

“Oh yes, I’m a good little soldier. Still obeying your  _ previous order  _ to go back home alone, I might add,” Terenti said sourly. 

“These are your new orders then,” Ilena didn’t so much as attempt to sound poised that time and pulled on the sleeve of his robes to turn him around and away from that  _ stupid _ wall, to look at her  _ stupid _ face instead. “You will stay because there is still a threat and I need help stopping it;  _ Your _ help, and I need  _ you _ and--” she rambled until there was no air in her lungs, and with the gasp came a pathetic sob that she tried to distract from with a croaked ‘I love you’. Her fingers ached from clutching at him so tightly, but she didn’t dare let go. Not on her own. Not like she did before.

Terenti sighed and reached for one of his bags. “You did two years ago, too, and it didn’t matter  _ then _ .” 

“Two years ago I had both arms, too,” she muttered when the phantom fingers in her mind twitched to grab for his hand. “Things change.”

“So maybe I’ve had a change of heart.” 

Ilena stared at him, visibly hurt and searching frantically for the right words to say. With a roll of her shoulder and a flick of her arm, she drew on her magic to restore the missing parts to the Fade's memory of it. “Perhaps not so drastically,” she said then, more of a plea than an argument from how her voice cracked and her chest shuddered as she drew small breaths between the words, and how the spectral hand flickered when she reached up and it brushed just slightly against his cheek.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” he said in a harsh tone, but then he touched the spirit-hand with soft fingers. “I’m not going off without you again. Ever.” 

Without another word, Ilena pulled back and took the amulet off her wrist in a couple of awkward gestures. She moved to lift the chain over his head, but stopped just halfway there before shaking her head and crushing it in a fist of Fade energy instead, her nose wrinkling in the effort to control the magic hand. “Good. Then you won't need this anymore,” she rasped through the tightness in her throat, pulled him down by the chin, and pressed a light, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.


	25. Epilogue

“Well, Pavus wanted to make the Lucerni’s political stance clear.  _ This _ is certainly going to be an opening statement they can’t ignore.” Terenti stepped back and brushed imaginary dust from the sleeves of his robe. A very,  _ very  _ Elven-looking robe. 

Ilena had been, as was her fashion, fussing with her own attire from the moment the last of the fastenings were closed and the fabrics smoothed out to look presentable. It was all so stereotypically Dalish in shape and color; The golds and greens patterned in vines of all sorts, and the ceremonial armor for her left arm that hung limply at her side, cut in curving plates from, judging by the dreadfully cold feel of it, Hakkon’s blighted bones. She snapped her shoulder in a crescent motion and the magic glowed brightly through the gaps in the armor, instantly bringing it into motion.

“I'm sure this will be received as well as the  _ previous _ statement was,” Ilena mumbled under her breath, already thinking to double the guard.

“What, the assassins? That was a formality, not a serious threat. They didn't even pay for a Crow,” Terenti scoffed. “Knew it'd be a waste of gold.”

“You almost sound disappointed they didn't send one,” she hummed and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You’re the fucking Inquisitor. The whole South of Thedas was eating out of your hand. Even now your forces are all that’s keeping order for dear Lei-toria as she implements those scandalous reforms. They should be sending whole guilds of Crows, not jumped-up highwaymen,” the former magister intoned with righteous indignation. “It’s a deliberate insult. They don’t think we’ll accomplish enough to be a threat. Well, we’ll show them.” 

He extended an arm for her to take and pushed open the dressing room door. “That speechifying in the Senate put us all to sleep. This is where the real work begins.” He gestured with his free arm towards the ostentatious gala that was doing its level best to exceed anything she’d seen at Orlais’ Winter Palace.  

“Mm, yes, let’s see how I’ll manage the South  _ and _ the North with only one hand,” the elf chuckled and linked the spectral arm with his, making a point to squeeze with her hand as she did. At a glance, there were no familiar faces among the guests, but there were many full of spite, most of them wearing forced smiles to hide their contempt under a rigid veneer of courtesy.  _ Nothing new, then _ .

“Shame Vas is at home with the woman and their brats. Him being technically the Sokolov heir and all. Of course, everyone knows I’m the real guiding intelligence in the family,” Terenti said, even as he traded imperious nods and probing looks with various magisters. 

“Something tells me you enjoy the undivided attention that his absence gets you,” she spoke absently as she looked around, regarding the nobility with far less interest than what she spared for those darting between them with trays and platters, frowned at and criticized despite their best efforts to do and be as expected. Briefly she wondered whether the excessive number of elven ‘servants’ was usual or a deliberate insult, and shifted her focus when she couldn’t decide which was worse.

“Hardly undivided. You’re the real attraction here. I’m merely basking in your presence like the rest of them,” he laughed. 

A few expressions went sour at the sound and someone couldn't contain a scornful huff at the sight of them, and Ilena couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “From the way they're looking, you'd think they weren't expecting…  _ this _ ,” she said, gesturing subtly at how offensively Elven they must've looked.

“It’s not  _ entirely  _ unknown for elves with magic to make something of themselves, as Tevinter sees it, but exclusively by copying the magisters. Pretending to be humans who are cursed with pointy ears,” Terenti said with a shrug. “That’s what they were prepared for. Not this. One of Pavus’ better ideas, I think.” 

“Well, if that's all it takes to shock them...” Ilena laughed, briefly, before sniffing the contents of the goblet she’d plucked from a tray, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She left it sitting between tangled vines that burst from under the tiles at her call, the lingering magic twisting their tendrils long after they had walked away.

“You know what’s interesting. The same principles apply to animating plants and animating corpses, but  _ that  _ is somehow only practiced by the Dalish,” Terenti said with an easy gesture at the vines. “I wonder if--” 

This fascinating magical theorizing was interrupted by a commotion in the corner of the room. A magister he didn’t recognize was loudly berating an elven slave, and moved quickly from verbal to physical abuse by way of a gilded cane. It was all quite ostentatious and its purpose was clear. Terenti’s lips drew into a frown. “That’s for your benefit, I’m afraid.” 

“ _ Benefit _ ?” She asked coldly. Ignoring his warning, she let go of his arm to stomp and shove through the crowd that spared only short glances for the scene. A few quick steps, and she had almost reached them. A few more, and  _ something _ felt off. The cane clashed loudly with the metal plates of her spirit hand, and it wasn't until she'd wrenched it from him that she noticed the sharp smell of Magebane,  _ felt _ it spreading under her skin before she even registered the dull pain in her shoulder and the warmth slowly running down her back. She whirled around, just barely dodging the next strike, and huffed a frustrated growl when she saw the ‘slave’ holding the blood-stained knife.

The elf assassin moved to strike again, but her body froze mid-stab. Terenti gestured lazily and the woman, controlled by his blood magic, lunged and buried her poisoned knife into the magister-and-would-be-assassin. “Just making it fair. Come on, she’s got one arm. Surely you can take her without your own magic,” he taunted.  

Ilena felt for the wound on her shoulder, tore off the now useless arm piece with a restrained hiss, and knocked the elf unconscious with it. “I understand your disappointment now,  _ ma lath _ ,” she snarled back at Terenti as she closed in on the ‘magister’ groaning in pain and trying to settle between fear and disgust as he felt for  _ something _ in his robes, “This is primitive even by the southern standards of the Game.” The arm piece fell with a faint rattle, and she slapped some other poison out of the man’s hand when he tried to down it. Something quick and lethal, no doubt, to silence his own big mouth. “No, it’s not your time yet,” Ilena said with a matter-of-fact voice before looking over her shoulder, “I do hope you brought someone that can be trusted with transporting these two safely to the estate.”

Far from being distressed by the outburst of violence, the other magisters at the party looked on in great interest. Some gave an ironic cheer when the Inquisitor struck the assassin with her armor. Others scowled as she disabled the magister and took him into custody, depending on their allegiance. 

“Of course,” Terenti said. “We can go now if you like. I wish you hadn’t fallen for this, though,” he added in a low voice. “Now every magister that wishes us harm will think abusing their elven slaves will unsettle you. Lose-lose.” 

“Not quite. I didn't survive years of being an elven Inquisitor by making the same mistakes time and again,” she mumbled almost absently as she tried to cast a healing spell, and sighed when the Fade remained out of her reach. The wound had almost stopped bleeding, however, and the haze wasn't as bad as when she dosed herself. Wouldn't be long before the effects wore off. “This  _ will _ make for a terrible scar story, though,” she admitted and wiped her hand on a rag.

The two failed assassins were collected and hauled off along with the discarded armor, and most of the onlookers returned to their private plotting and whispering. Others began very visibly trying to decide whether to approach them or not.

“Good thing they didn’t know magebane was our foreplay. Otherwise they might’ve used an actually dangerous poison,” Terenti smirked. All in all, he seemed incredibly unruffled by the attempt to kill Ilena. 

“I’ll write the ill-timed amusement in your voice off to this unwavering faith you have in my ability to take lives in creative ways,” she grumbled, more irritated with herself than him.

“This was nothing. A provocation. Another test. I told you, when they’re serious, they’ll send the Crows. The most damage this did was ensuring they’ll hire elves,” he said, with a careless gesture.

“I find it hard to believe that this was more than someone’s foolishly rushed attempt at my life, what with how they’re stuck with… what did you call them? Jumped-up highwaymen?” Ilena took his arm once she’d had some success at closing the gash on her shoulder, and continued with a quieter tone, “My reach extends far beyond the Waking Sea, and unless they hire the stray puppies of the guild, there will be no such encounters with the Crows.”

“Maybe. Things change,” Terenti said doubtfully. “Your former spymaster’s busy being the Divine and Josephine’s diplomacy won’t last forever.”

“Make no mistake, Terenti. I’m not ignorant or toothless without them, and I have very little left to lose,” she sneered and turned him around by the arm so they stood face to face. With a flash and flicker, she conjured up the spirit arm and pressed the hand flat on his chest as she stepped towards him. “In fact, Josie's  _ diplomacy _ may well be the only thing keeping me from sicing everyone on each other... Rain fire down on whoever remains standing once they’re done tearing at each other’s throats, and reign over the blood and ashes if I live through it.”

“You threatening to slaughter everyone is such a turn on,” he licked his lips as the shove pushed him back into one of those Tevinter plush couches that were everywhere in the room. 

“Mm, too bad I need their numbers to even the odds against Fen’Harel,” Ilena cooed as she climbed over him and pinned him to the cushion. There were forced gasps and offended whispers, barely hidden behind excessively decorated feather fans. “Maybe after he’s dealt with. Until then, we’ll play with these Magisters, and break whoever doesn’t bend the way we want them to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment and let us know what your favorite line was :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Price of Abandonment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738201) by [TK_DuVeraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun)




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